# 


•*. 


DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


The  Glenn  Negley  Collection 
of  Utopian  Literature 


^  3S 


THE    BRETON    MILLS 


A    ROMANCE 


BY 


CHARLES    J.    BELLAMY 


NEW   YORK 
G.    P.    PUTNAM'S    SONS 

182     FIFTH     AVENUE 
1879. 


Copyright  by  G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  1879. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I. — ^A  Picture  and  its  Critics .- i 

II. — Masquerading ii 

III. — An  Unwilling  Guest 22 

IV. — Crying  for  the  Moon 35 

V. — A  Ruin  by  Moonlight 47 

VI.— A  Day  Off 58 

VII.— A  Test 70 

VIII. — His  Mistake 82 

IX. — Weak  Man 95 

X. — Weak  Woman 104 

XI. — Ungrateful  Populace 121 

XII. — A  New  Galatea 137 

XIII.— Class  Prejudice 152 

XIV. — The  Mill-Owner's  Triumph 168 

XV. — A  Holiday 184 

XVI. — What  will  They  fetch  ? igg 

XVII. — Tea  for  an  Old  Woman 216 

XVIII. — The  New  Stock  Company 225 

XIX. — Why  couldn't  She  wait  ? 242 

XX. — A  Radical 250 

XXL— Very  Odd 267 


VI  ■  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.— Out,  Damned  Spot 281 

XXIII.— No  Barrier -. 293 

XXIV. — A  Race  with  the  Cars , 306 

XXV.— Woman's  Sympathy 317 

XXVI. — What  are  We  waiting  for  ? 329 

XXVII.— One  Short  Hour 341 

XXVIII.— A  Legal  Distinction  353 

XXIX.— The  White  Chamber 366 

XXX.— f viL  Eyes 378 

XXXI. — Incautious  Driving 391 

XXXII.— Ink 401 

XXXIII.— Too  Late 407 

XXXIV.— The  Last  Straw , 413 

XXXV. — Unwelcome  Visitors 423 

XXXVI. — A  Popular  Leader 435 

XXXVII.— Too  Fond  a  Husband 442 

XXXVIII. — The  Price  of  Happiness 449 

Conclusion 455 


THE  BRETON  MILLS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  Picture  and  its  C?'itics. 


"  T     ET'S  take  a  squint  in." 

-L/  It  is  on  the  sidewalk  in  front  of  the  fine 
residence  of  Ezekiel  Breton.  Surely  everybody  with- 
in the  length  and  breadth  of  a  hundred  miles  must 
have  heard  the  name  of  the  wealthy  mill-owner, 
whose  energy  and  shrewdness  have  passed  into  a 
by-word.  The  house  is  brilliantly  Jighted,  and  the 
windows  wide  open  as  if  to  invite  the  attention  and 
admiration  of  the  humble  passers  by. 

Three  men,  laborers,  if  coarse,  soiled  clothes  and 
dull,  heavy  tread  mean  anything,  have  come  down 
the  street  and  now  stand  leaning  against  the  tall 
iron  fence. 

"  Why  shouldn't  we  see  the  show,  boys  ?  "  con- 
tinued the  long-whiskered  man,  with  an  unpleasant 
laugh.  "  It's  our  work  that's  payin'  for  it,  I  guess. 
How  long  do  you  think  it  would  take  you.  Jack,  to 
scrimp    enough  to  buy  one  of  them  candlesticks  ? 


2  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Hullo—there's  the  boss  himself,"  and  he  thrust  his 
hand  inside  the  iron  pickets  to  point  out  a  portly 
gentleman  whose  bald  head  was  fringed  with  silver- 
white  hair.  Mr.  Breton  paused  a  moment  before 
the  window. 

"  Come,  let's  go  on,"  urged  the  man  with  a  clay 
pipe,  edging  off  a  little  into  the  shadow,  "he'll  see 
us,  and  be  mad.'' 

"What's  the  odds  if  he  does?"  and  the  speaker 
frowned  at  the  rich  man  from  between  the  pickets. 
"He  can't  get  help  no  cheaper  than  us,  can  he? 
That's  one  good  pint  of  bein'  way  down, — you  can't 
tumble  a  mite.  But  just  look  at  him,  boys — big 
watch  chain  and  gold  bowed  specs  a  danglin*.  See 
the  thumbs  of  his  white  hands  stuck  in  his  vest 
pocket,  and  him  as  smilin'  as  if  he  never  did  nobody 
a  wrong  in  his  whole  blessed  life — there  now  is 
somethin'  purtier,  though." 

The  old  gentleman  moved  unsuspectingly  aside, 
and  revealed  a  young  girl,  large  and  fair,  with  great, 
calm  blue  eyes.  She  wore  a  pale  blue  silk,  with 
delicate  ruffles  at  her  half  bared  elbow  and  at  her 
neck,  kissing  the  warm  white  skin. 

"  Well  I  suppose  my  girl  Jane  might  look  just  as 
good  in  such  clothes  as  them.  But  she  w^ouldn't  no 
more  speak  to  Jane,  than  as  if  the  girl  wasn't  human. 
And  as  for  a  poor  man  he  might  pour  his  life  out  for 
her  purty  face  and  she  wouldn't  give  him  a  look.     A 


A  PICTURE  AND  ITS  -CRITICS.  3 

few  dollars  and  a  suit  of  clothes  makes  the  odds. 
Now  look  at  that" — 

"What's  she  laughin'  at  ?"  said  the  tall  man 
taking  his  clay  pipe  from  his  mouth. 

"Can't  you  see  with  your  eyes?  There's  the 
boy  standin'  jist  beyend  her.  Breton's  young  hope- 
ful. Nothin'  less  than  the  biggest  kind  of  game  for 
her,  I  cal'late." 

"  I  never  seen  him  before,"  remarked  the  third 
man  reverentially,  "  I  'spose  he'll  be  our  boss  some 
day." 

"  He's  been  to  college  polishin'  up  his  wits. 
'Tain't  goin'  to  be  so  easy  as  it  was  to  grind  the  poor. 
The  old  man,  now,  didn't  need  no  extra  schoolin'." 

'*  I  aint  so  sure  now,"  said  the  tall  man,  blowing 
out  a  wreath  of  smoke.  "  The  boy  looks  more  kind 
about  his  mouth  and  eyes.  See  him  look  at  the 
girl.     I  cal'late  she  don't  think  he's  very  bad." 

"  Wait  till  he  gets  his  heel  on  the  necks  of  a 
thousand  of  us,  as  his  father  has.  Wait  till  he  finds 
we  aint  got  a  penny  ahead,  nor  a  spot  of  God's 
earth  for  our  own,  but  lie  at  his  mercy.  See  how 
kind  he'll  be  then.  'Taint  the  nature  of  the  beast. 
Bill  Rogers." 

Bill  Rogers  took  a  long  look  at  the  slight  form 
of  the  mill-owner's  son — at  his  fresh,  young  face  and 
small,  pleasant  black  eyes.  "  I  wish  the  lad  had  a 
chance.     I  believe  I'd  trust  him.  Graves." 


4  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

"  You  always  was  a  fool,"  growled  the  man  with 
the  long  whiskers  called  Graves.  "  I  suppose  you 
think  he'll  melt  down  those  silver  candlesticks,  and 
the  brass  figgers  that  aint  got  no  clothes  on.  Then 
you  expect  he'll  auction  off  those  oil  pictures  of 
cows  and  medders  and  the  turkey  carpet,  and  all 
them  carved  chairs,  that  look  too  good  to  set  in,  and 
divide  the  proceeds  among  us  dirty  devils." 

''  Hadn't  we  better  be  startin'  ?  The  meetin* 
will  begin  purty  soon." 

"  What's  the  hurry  ?  Curran  is  always  late  him- 
self.   Well,  come  along  then." 

Just  now  Mr.  Breton  is  leaning  lightly  on  the 
mantel  near  one  of  his  pet  heirlooms — the  silver 
candelabra.  Near  him  stands  a  tall,  elegantly 
formed  gentleman,  only  a  trifle  past  middle  age, 
whose  clear  chiseled  mouth  has  the  merest  hint  of  a 
smile  on  it,  as  if  he  had  just  said  something  bright. 
It  was  a  smile  he  always  wore  when  he  had  spoken 
— a  smile  with  an  edge  to  it.  But  Mr.  Ellingsworth 
had  to  make  that  smile  do  good  service,  for  he 
never  laughed.  The  funniest  jokes  had  been  told 
him — the  most  ridiculous  situations  described  to 
him — but  he  only  smiled.  It  has  been  supposed 
that  he  must  laugh  by  himself,  in  the  woods  or 
behind  double  doors.  Indeed  he  was  once  informed 
of  the  suspicion  against  him — and  smiled,  though 
several  careful  observers  were  sure,  from  certain  pre- 


A  PICTURE  AND  ITS  CRITICS.  5 

monitory  symptoms,  that  a  genuine  laugh  was  at 
last  coming. 

''  What  am  I  going  to  do  with  the  boy?  "  Mr. 
Breton's  voice  was  always  loud  and  sharp  as  if  mak- 
ing itself  heard  above  the  roaring  of  his  mills. 
♦'  Why,  marry  him  to  your  daughter  the  first  thing. 
Eh!  Philip?" 

Would  she  be  angry,  proud  and  reserved  as  she 
was  ?  Philip  shot  a  furtive  glance  at  Bertha  as  she  sat 
at  the  piano  idly  turning  over  the  music  sheets. 
Poor  fellow,  all  his  cunning  system  of  approaches 
come  to  naught  ;  everything  precipitated  at  perhaps 
the  worst  possible  moment !  But  the  girl  might  not 
have  heard,  not  a  shade  of  expression  changed  in 
her  face.  It  might  as  well  have  been  the  sources  of 
the  Nile  they  were  discussing  so  far  as  she  was  con- 
cerned, apparently,  but  as  she  pressed  her  white 
hand  on  the  music  sheet  to  keep  it  open,  her  lov- 
er's eyes  softened  at  the  flash  of  their  betrothal 
diamond. 

''  I  should  think  your  hands  must  be  pretty  full 
already,"  suggested  Mr.  Ellingsworth  in  the  low 
smooth  tone,  as  much  a  part  of  his  style  as  the  cut 
of  his  black  coat,  "  with  a  thousand  unreasonable 
beings  down  in  your  factories.  And  by  the  way,  I 
hear  that  Labor  is  claiming  its  rights,  with  a  big  L. 
As  if  anybody  had  any  rights,  only  by  accident." 

**  Sceptical  as  ever,  Ellingsworth,"  said  the  mill- 


6  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

owner  with  all  a  practical  man's  distaste  for  a  thing  so 
destructive  to  industry.  ''  But  no,  I  get  along  easily 
enough  with  my  help  if  quacks  and  tramps  would  only 
keep  out  of  the  way  ;  though  there  is  some  kind  of  an 
agitation  meeting  to-night ;  somebody  is  raising  the 
mischief  among  them.  I  wish  I  knew  who  it  was," 
and  Mr.  Breton  looked  impatiently  around  the  room 
as  if  he  hoped  to  seize  the  incendiary  in  some  corner 
of  his  own  parlor. 

He  met  Bertha's  blue  eyes  wide  open  in  a  new 
interest.  She  had  half  turned  from  the  piano,  but 
her  sleeve  was  caught  back  on  the  edge  of  the  key- 
board, revealing  the  fair  full  contour  of  her  arm 
which  glistened  whiter  than  the  ivory  beneath  it. 

"A  mystery,  how  charming!"  she  smiled,  "Let 
me  picture  him  :  tall,  with  clustering  auburn  hair 
on   his  god-like  head — " 

"  Pish — excuse  me,  my  dear — but  more  likely  the 
fellow  is  some  low,  drunken  jail-bird  you  would  be 
afraid  to  pass  on  the  street.  Some  day  they  will 
find  out  there  is  no  good  making  working  people 
uneasy.  They  want  the  work,  and  they  ought  to 
be  glad  the  work  wants  them.  Their  interests  are 
identical  with  ours." 

"  No  doubt,"  assented  Mr.  Ellingsworth,  in  his 
suavest  tones,  that  seemed  too  smooth  for  satire, 
"  but  perhaps  they  think  you  get  too  large  a  share 
of  the  dividends." 


A  PICTURE  AND  ITS  CRITICS.  J 

**  You  like  to  round  your  sentences  pretty  well," 
retorted  Mr.  Breton,  flushing  slightly,  *' but  do  you 
mean  to  say,  you,  of  all  men,  sympathize  with  this 
labor-reform  nonsense  ?  Why,  you  will  be  marrying 
your  servant  girl  next." 

Ellingsworth  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shapely 
shoulders  just  visibly. 

''You  ought  to  know  me,  Mr.  Breton.  I  sympa- 
thize with — nobody.  It  is  too  much  trouble.  And 
as  for  the  sufferings  of  the  lower  classes — they  may 
be  very  pitiable — but  I  don't  see  how  the  nether 
mill-stone  can  help  itself,  or  for  that  matter  be 
helped  either."  Then  he  smiled  again  and  glanced 
curiously  toward  the  piano. 

"  Why  where  are  our  young  people?  " 

After  considerable  dumb  show,  Bertha  had  be- 
come aware  that  Philip  had  some  intelligence  of  a 
startling  nature  to  communicate.  So  it  happened 
that,  at  the  moment  Mr.  Ellingsworth  inquired 
for  them,  the  young  people  stood  just  inside  the 
door  of  the  cosy  little  room  called  ''  the  study." 

*'  I  am  going  to  have  some  high  fun  to-night. 
Bertha,  1  am  going  to  that  labor  meeting,  I  want 
to  see  the  business  from  the  inside,  when  the  public 
show  isn't  going  on." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  in  astonishment,  ''  They 
won't  let  you  in." 

"■  That's  just   where  the  fun  is  coming.      It  is 


8  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

going  to  be  better  than  all  the  college  deviltry,  and 
— wait  here  two  minutes  and  I'll  show  you." 

Book  shelves  ran  up  to  the  ceiling  on  the  side  of  the 
room,  opposite  the  door.  A  long  office  table  stretched 
across  the  centre  almost  to  the  high  window  looking 
toward  the  street.  But  all  the  business  associations 
did  not  oppress  this  elegant  young  woman,  who 
threw  herself  in  luxurious  abandon  into  the  solitary 
easy  chair.  She  apparently  did  not  find  love  very 
disturbing.  No  doubt  she  only  smiled  at  its  poems 
fervid  with  a  passion  unknown  to  her  calm,  even 
life.  Her  young  lover  had  often  been  frightened  at 
the  firm  outline  of  the  cold  red  lips,  with  never  a 
thought  of  kisses  on  them,  and  at  the  sprite-like 
unconsciousness  of  her  blue  eyes  that  looked  curi- 
ously at  him  when  love  softened  his  voice  and  glori- 
fied his  face.  She  was  not  listening  for  his  return- 
ing footsteps,  not  one  line  of  eagerness  or  of  sus- 
pense was  on  the  dispassionate  face,  while  she 
played  with  the  flashing  jewel  her  lover  had  placed 
long  ago  on  her  finger. 

The  door  opens  behind  her  but  she  does  not 
turn  her  head — no  doubt  he  will  come  in  front  of 
her  if  he  wishes  to  be — there  he  is,  a  slight  figure 
looking  very  odd  and  disagreeable  in  the  soiled  and 
ill-fitting  clothes  he  has  put  on,  with  no  collar  or 
cuffs,  but  a  blue  flannel  shirt  open  a  button  or  two 
at  his  neck.     His  faded  pantaloons   were   roughly 


A  PICTURE  AND  ITS  CRITICS.  9 

thrust  Into  the  tops  of  an  immense  pair  of  cowhide 
boots  which  apparently  had  never  been  so  much  as 
shadowed  by  a  box  of  blacking.  His  black  eyes 
sparkle  as  he  holds  out  to  her  a  bandless  felt  hat 
which  shows  the  marks  of  a  long  and  varied  history. 
Bertha  looked  at  him  in  dull  distaste.  What  a  poor 
mouth  he  had,  and  how  unpleasantly  his  face 
wrinkled  when  he  smiled. 

"  I  wouldn't  ever  do  this  again,"  she  said  coldly. 
A.  hurt  look  came  into  his  eyes,  he  dropped  his  hat 
on  the  floor,  and  was  turning  dejectedly  away.  The 
fun  was  all  gone,  and  her  words  and  her  look,  he 
knew,  would  come  back  to  him  a  thousand  times 
when  he  should  be  alone. 

But  she  put  out  her  hand  to  him  like  the  sceptre 
of  a  queen.  ''  Never  mind — you  will  generally  wear 
better  clothes  than  these,  won't  you  ?  " 

''But  I  wouldn't  like  to  have  that  make  any 
difference  ? "  said  Philip,  looking  wistfully  at  the 
cool  white  hand  he  held.  "  Supposing  I  was  poor — " 

She  drew  her  hand  away  impatiently.  If  he  had 
known  how  he  looked  then,  he  would  have  chosen 
another  time  for  his  lover's  foolishness. 

"  Don't  get  poor.  I  like  pretty  things  and  graceful 
manners,  and  elegant  surroundings  ;  that  is  the  way  I 
am  made.    I  should  suffocate  if  I  didn't  have  them." 

"  But  ?  "  urged  Philip  uneasily,  "  you  couldn't  love 
anybody  but  me,  could  you  ?  '' 


10  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

She    smiled    charmingly.     "■  You    must    not    let 
me?"     Then  she  rose  as  if  to  dismiss  the  subject.*" 
''  Are  you  all  ready  ?  " 

In  a  minute  more  he  was,  after  he  had  fastened 
on  his  yellow  whiskers  and  bronzed  over  his  face 
and  neck,  and  white  wrists.  "  Your  own  father 
wouldn't  know  you  !  "  she  laughed,  as  they  opened 
the  outer  door.     Philip  went  down  two  steps. 

'*  You  shake  the  foundation  with  those  boots." 
He  was  quite  recovering  his  spirits,  now  that  she 
was  so  kind  with  him.  ''  And  you  will  tell  me  all 
about  it,  and  whether  the  leader  has  auburn  hair  as 
I  said  ?  How  long  before  you  will  come  back — an 
hour  ?     Well,  I'll  be  here  as  long  as  that." 

He  pulled  his  great  hat  well  down  over  his  eyes 
and  started, -but  at  the  gate  he  turned  to  look  back. 

Bertha  stood  in  the  doorway,  tall  and  queenly, 
the  red  gold  of  her  hair  glistening  in  the  light  like  a 
halo  about  her  head.  He  could  not  catch  the  look 
in  her  face,  but  as  she  stood,  she  raised  her  hand  to 
her  lips  and  threw  him  a  kiss  with  a  gesture  of 
exquisite  grace.  And  she  was  his  ;  why  did  he  like 
to  persecute  her  for  a  confession  she  was  ashamed 
yet  to  give,  when  soon  perhaps  she  would  warm  his 
heart  with  a  thousand  times  diviner  words  of  love 
than  any  he  could  put  into  her  mouth. 

In  a  moment  more  he  heard  her  at  the  piano,  and 
he  tried  to  keep  clumsy  step  to  the  strain  from  *'  La 
Traviata  "  that  came  throbbino-  after  him. 


CHAPTER  II 

Masquerading. 

PHILIP  pushed  open  the  door  of  "Market 
Hall  "  and  looked  in.  About  sixty  men  were 
scattered  over  the  benches  in  all  conceivable  posi- 
tions. A  number  held  pipes  between  their  teeth, 
filling  the  room  with  the  rank  smoke  of  the  strongest 
and  blackest  tobacco.  Here  and  there  two  men 
appropriated  a  whole  bench,  one  at  each  end  for  a 
sofa.  But  more  of  them  were  settled  down  on  the 
small  of  their  backs  with  their  knees  braced  against 
the  bench  in  front.  He  saw  in  a  moment,  that 
though  he  was  worse  dressed  than  any  of  them  yet 
there  was  a  difference  in  kind  also.  There  was  more 
meaning  in  one  wrinkle  on  their  well  worn  coats, 
than  in  all  his  ingenious  paraphernalia.  He  felt 
ashamed  in  the  presence  of  these  pathetic  realities, 
and  turned  to  go  back,  but  his  great  boots  creaked 
incautiously.  Only  two  or  three  looked  around  ; 
a  poor  man  more  or  less  does  not  count  for  much 
with  the  poor  or  with  the  rich.  Two  or  three  grave 
worn  faces,  two  or  three  pairs  of  tired,  hopeless 
eyes  rebuked  him  for  the  idle  freak  that  brought  him 


1 2  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

there.  What  right  had  he  there,  who  came  out  of 
curiosity  to  watch  the  unhealthy  symptoms  of  the 
disease  called  poverty  ?  What  an  insult  to  their  bitter 
needs  were  his  mock  trimmings,  in  which  he  came  like 
one  masquerading  among  a  graveyard  full  of  ghosts  ! 

"  Hold  on,  friend,  ye  needn't  go,"  and  a  long- 
whiskered  man  beckoned  to  him. 

He  found  his  way  to  a  seat  with  a  hang-dog  air, 
the  best  piece  of  acting  he  had  done  yet.  The  same 
stolid  look  was  on  this  man's  face,  bleached  to  a 
settled  paleness  from  the  confinement  of  years  in 
the  walls  of  the  mills,  and  there  was  a  bitterness 
about  the  mouth  and  nostrils  as  if  he  had  not  kissed 
the  rod  that  smote  him. 

"  No  call  to  be  shamed,  young  man.  I  suppose 
them's  the  best  clothes  you  got.  Your  heart  may  be 
just  as  white  as  if  you'd  cheated  out  a  better  livin'.  " 

The  poor  don't  talk  only  when  they  have  some- 
thing to  say.  So  Philip  said  nothing,  to  act  in  char- 
acter. 

*'  I  suppose  you  think  you're  pretty  hard  up,"  re- 
sumed the  big-whiskered  man  who  was  no  other  than 
Graves,  the  man  who  had  peered  into  his  companion's 
parlor  window  only  an  hour  ago.  And  he  glanced 
significantly  at  Philip's  boots  and  soiled  pantaloons. 

*'  Jest  look  at  that  Httle  chap  over  yonder  all 
bowed  up.  He  don't  look  very  hearty,  does  he  ?  Up 
to  his  house  there's  a  wife  all  faded  and  broken  and 


MASQUERADING.  13 

two  little  cripples  for  children,  a  whinin'  and  a 
screechin'  from  mornin'  to  night.  He  would  chop 
his  head  off  to  help  them,  but  he  is  slow  and  weak 
and  don't  git  but  ninety  cents  a  day,  and  he  can't 
save  them  babies  a  single  ache,  nor  ease  their  poor 
misshapen  little  bones  one  twinge.  It  takes  every 
penny  to  keep  the  wretched  breath  in  'em  all,  and 
him  and  his  wife,  once  as  purty  a  gal  as  ever  you 
seen,  has  only  to  stand  and  see  'em  cry.  They  used 
to  cry  themselves,  too,  but  that  was  long  ago.  Why 
how  surprised  and  sorry  you  look,  young  feller. 
Where  was  you  raised  that  ye  aint  seen  such  things  ?  " 
Graves  looked  about  him.  "  I  could  tell  you 
something  about  well  nigh  every  man  here,  that  if 
some  fool  put  it  in  potry  the  rich  would  cry  beautiful 
over  it.  But  their  tears  wouldn't  loosen  their  grip  on 
our  throats,  you  be  sure.  Do  you  see  that  lean-faced 
man  with  the  hurt  arm  at  the  end  of  the  seat  ye're 
on  ?  Well,  he's  got  the  smartest  little  boy  in  town. 
All  he  wanted  was  schoolin'  and  his  father  and 
mother  saved  and  scrimped  so  he  could  have  it.  You 
oughter  seen  how  proud  they  was  to  see  their  lad 
struttin'  off  to  school  while  they  kept  a  thinkin'  of 
him  all  day  long  in  the  mill.  And  they  was  never 
too  tired  to  hear  the  boy  tell  them  over  the  hard 
names  he  had  learned.  And  then  they  would  tell  the 
neighbors  who  sometimes  got  jealous,  how  they  was 
savin'  every  cent  and  how  their  boy  was  goin'  to  col- 


14  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

lege  like  old  Breton's  son.  But  there  was  no  call  for 
the  neighbors  to  be  jealous ;  the  woman  went  to 
work  one  day  when  she  was  sick  and  caught  her 
death  o'  cold  and  it  took  a  mint  of  money  to  nuss  and 
then  bury  her.  Then  the  man  fell  and  got  hurt  and 
the  little  boy  cried  enough  to  break  your  heart  when 
they  took  his  books  away."  The  face  of  the  long- 
whiskered  man  softened  an  instant.  But  he  turned 
his  head  away. 

''He  needn't  a  cried,"  he  said  gruffly,  "I  don't 
know  as  he  was  any  better  than  the  rest  of  us." 

Now  there  came  a  little  commotion  on  the  plat- 
form. 

"Do  you  know  what's  up,  young  feller?"  and 
Graves  looked  at  his  neighbor  curiously.  "Why  we 
heard  the  other  day  we  had  some  rights  as  well  as 
wrongs.  We  heard  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  bare  room 
to  sleep  and  die  in — we  heard  that  isn't  pay  enough 
for  all  we  do  feedin'  and  clothin'  the  world.  There's 
Curran — shut  up  now." 

A  man  who  sat  head  and  shoulders  above  the 
group  on  the  platform  rose  to  his  full  height  like  a 
young  giant  and  came  forward.  He  looked  down 
into  the  upturned  faces  for  a  moment  in  silence,  and 
Philip  felt  his  steel-blue  eyes  piercing  him  like  a 
sword.  Could  he  tell  by  some  unknown  sympathetic 
'Sense,  which  was  the  man  had  no  right  there,  which 
one  had   come  into   the  assembly   of  the  poverty- 


MA  SQ  UERA  DING.  1 5 

Stricken  only  to  mock  them  ?  He  almost  expected  to 
be  pointed  out  before  them  all,  and  to  be  made  to 
writhe  in  every  nerve  and  muscle  at  the  depiction  of 
his  own  careless  life.  Philip  felt  this  young  giant 
could  do  all  this— there  was  such  an  idea  of  power 
breathing  out  of  the  man,  with  neck  and  shoulders 
like  a  Hercules  and  dome-like  forehead  above  heavy 
overhanging  brows. 

"  Men,"  he  began.  Then  he  stopped  speaking  a 
moment.  "Yes,  men  you  are,  in  spite  of  all  the 
degradation  the  rich  and  the  powerful  can  put  upon 
you.  The  time  is  coming,  when  the  principles  of 
equahty  vaunted  on  the  pages  of  so  many  lying  con- 
stitutions, and  breathed  on  the  lips  of  so  many  false- 
tongued  demagogues,  shall  be  fully  realized.  The 
time  is  coming  when  the  work  shall  not  be  on  one 
side,  and  the  reward  on  the  other.  We  shall  not 
always  wear  rags  as  the  livery  of  our  masters.  Not 
always  shall  the  poor  rise  early  and  toil  late,  wear 
their  skin  till  it  be  shriveled  hke  parchment,  a^^ 
their  bodies  till  they  be  ready  to  drop  into  the  grave  for 
weariness,  only  to  pluck  the  fruit  of  God's  bountiful 
earth  for  the  lips  of  the  idle  and  the  proud  to  taste. 
The  gracious  favors  often  thousand  smiling  hills  and 
valleys  are  gathered  only  for  the  few,  and  those 
whose  arrogance  and  hardness  of  heart  have  least  de- 
, served  them.  And  they  tell  us  it  must  be  so  ;  that  the 
few  who  are  more  capable  and  prudent  should  thus 


1 6  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

be  rewarded  for  their  superiority.  They  point  to  six 
thousand  years'  oppression  of  the  poor  and  say  what 
has  been  must  be.  Yes,  for  six  thousand  years  the 
groans  of  the  poor  have  gone  up,  and  as  long  the 
few,  for  whom  alone  all  the  beauty  and  bounty  of  the 
great  earth  seemed  to  blossom,  have  answered  with 
curses  and  contempt."  Now  his  magnificent  chest 
seemed  to  expand  ;  his  voice  lost  its  pathetic  tone 
and  rang  out  like  a  trumpet. 

"  But  the  knowledge  they  have  given  to  make  us 
better  slaves,  is  bursting  our  fetters  before  their 
frightened  eyes.  The  astonished  people  see  at 
last  the  black  and  monstrous  injustice  of  their  sub- 
jection. They  have  numbered  their  hosts,  as  count- 
less as  the  sands  of  the  sea.  It  is  the  strength  of 
their  arms  has  girdled  the  earth  with  unceasing 
streams  of  wealth.  It  is  the  ingenuity  of  their 
brains  has  harnessed  each  of  the  untamed  forces  of 
nature  to  service.  The  infinite  number  of  their  cun- 
nwig  fingers  has  woven  the  fabrics  to  clothe  Christen- 
dom, and  their  red  blood  poured  out  on  a  thousand 
battle-fields  has  bought  vain  triumphs  for  the  pride  of 
their  masters." 

His  lips  suddenly  curled  in  majestic  scorn. 
"  And  how  long  will  your  patient,  calloused  hands 
build  palaces  for  the  great,  while  you  live  in  hovels  ? 
Ought  not  such  strong  arms  as  yours  be  able  to  win 
enough  to  make   one  modest  home  happy,  if  you 


MA  SQ  VERA  DING.  1 7 

were  not  robbed  ?  The  world  is  full  of  cheap  com- 
forts ;  the  harvests  are  boundless,  the  store-houses 
bursting,  but  each  worthless  pauper  has  as  good  a 
share  as  you,  who  make  the  wealth.  You  cause  the 
increase,  your  hands  till  the  teeming  lands  and  work 
the  tireless  looms.  Your  shoulders  bow  beneath 
the  products  of  your  toil — like  muzzled  oxen 
beating  out  the  grain  for  unpitying  masters.  Why 
will  you  endure  it  ?  They  tell  you  it  is  only  right ; 
their  books  teach  gentle  submission  ;  their  oily- 
tongued  speakers  soothe  you  with  proverbs  and  con- 
soling maxims,  but  all  the  wise  men  of  centuries  and 
all  the  hundred  thousand  printing  presses  of  to-day 
heaping  up  books  in  every  language  like  a  new  tower 
of  Babel,  cannot  turn  a  lie  into  the  truth." 

Philip  sat  leaning  forward,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
speaker  in  a  strange  excitement.  Curran's  words 
came  into  his  soul  like  molten  fire,  consuming  the 
chaff  of  years  and  leaving  a  path  of  light  behind. 
He  was  full  of  wonder  that  he  had  been  blind  so 
long,  mixed  with  joy  at  his  new  piercing  vision. 
He  had  forgotten  how  he  had  come  there,  and  felt  a 
sudden  desire  to  take  the  hand  of  every  poor  man  in 
the  room  and  pledge  them  his  help.  But  no  one 
seemed  touched  as  he  was,  the  same  hard  look  was 
on  each  face,  the  mask  the  poor  assume  to  cover 
their  distress,  only  the  eyes  of  them  all  were  centered 
on  their  orator. 

2 


1 8  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  But  you  are  poor,  and  with  your  wives  and 
children  are  hungry  for  even  the  crust  of  bread  your 
masters  cast  you.  Though  you  were  a  million  to 
one,  you  are  held  to  their  service,  no  matter  how 
unjust,  by  the  daily  recurring  facts  of  hunger  and 
cold.  Look  !  the  fields  are  white  with  their  har- 
vests, the  shops  filled  with  their  cloths,  but  the  law- 
makers and  their  pitiless  police  are  in  their  pay,  and 
you  must  bow  your  meek  necks  and  thank  your 
masters  humbly  for  the  trifle  their  greed  vouchsafes 
you." 

Philip's  heart  thumped  painfully  behind  his 
faded  coat.  Could  the  speaker  give  no  hope  to  the 
wretched  listeners  hanging  on  his  lips  ?  Must  they 
cringe  forever  at  the  foot  of  power?  Their  thin 
worn  hands  made  the  bread,  but  it  was  snatched 
from  their  mouths,  and  doled  out  in  scanty  allowance 
as  the  price  of  hopeless  slavery.  He  had  never  seen 
it  before. 

*' Who  is  he?  "  he  whispered  to  his  companion. 
The  man  did  not  even  turn  his  face  from  the  speaker. 

'*  It  is  Curran.  He  belongs  to  the  Labor  League." 
'This,  then,  was  the  agitator  his  father  spoke  of. 
And  Bertha  had  pictured  him  rightly,  with  his  clus- 
tering auburn  hair.  For  a  moment  he  stood  silent, 
while  under  the  divine  light  in  his  eyes,  the  souls  of 
each  one  ripened  for  his  next  words. 

"  Alone,  you  can  do  nothing,  alone  ;  whole  fac- 


MA  SQ  VERA  DING.  1 9 

tories  of  you  cannot  stand  against  the  masters  ;  but 
united,  we  can  shake  the  world,  and  all  over  the 
land  the  oppressed  are  banding  together.  We  are 
weak  now,  but  when  the  long-stifled  voice  of  your 
wrongs  finds  utterance,  the  answering  moans  of  mil- 
lions will  rouse  your  souls  to  the  resistless  martyr 
pitch.  Then  it  will  seem  sweet  to  die ;  yes,  to 
starve,  with  your  dear  ones  about  you,  inspired  with 
the  same  enthusiasm.  When  the  generation  is 
born,  which  dare  starve,  but  has  forgotten  how  to 
yield,  and  even  for  the  bread  of  life  will  not  sell  its 
children  into  eternal  slavery,  then  will  the  gold  of 
the  rich  rot  worthless  in  their  white  hands  till  they 
divide  with  us  our  common  heritage." 

He  stopped  and  sat  down,  and  as  his  enthusiasm 
faded  from  his  face,  Philip  saw  he  was  not  handsome. 
The  eyes  that  had  seemed  so  wonderful,  were  too 
deep  seated  beneath  his  heavy  brows,  and  his 
smooth  shaved  face  was  scarred  from  exposure  to 
sun  and  storm  ;  yet,  while  he  had  been  speaking 
pity  and  divine  wrath  in  turn  melting  and  burning 
in  his  eyes  and  lighting  up  his  rugged  cheeks,  he 
seemed  beautiful,  like  an  archangel. 

The  audience  sat  in  silence  a  moment,  then  one 
man  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily,  then  another,  and 
then  all  rose  listlessly  to  their  feet.  Philip  thought 
their  zest  in  life  had  gone  so  long  ago  that  they  did 
not  even  miss  it,  then   he   remembered  what  his  life 


20  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

was,  bright  as  a  June  morning.  Did  God  love  him 
so  much  better  than  these  weary  creatures,  whose 
only  refuge  was  in  hopelessness  ?  Then  he  thought 
of  Bertha  waiting  for  him,  and  he  hurried  out,  glad 
that  he  seemed  to  be  escaping  notice.  Where  was 
the  funny  adventure  he  had  to  tell  his  sweetheart  ? 
A  new  world  had  been  revealed  to  him  ;  a  world 
within  the  world  he  had  played  with,  that  knew  no 
such  thing  as  mirth,  fed  forever  on  bitter  realities, 
and  his  little  spark  of  happiness  seemed  smothered 
in  its  black  night.  Once  outside  the  hall,  Philip 
drew  back  into  an  obscure  corner  under  the  low 
hanging  branches  of  an  old  elm,  to  watch  the  peo- 
ple scatter  to  their  homes.  Each  one  must  have  a 
family  circle  of  his  own.  There  were  hungry  eyes 
that  looked  to  him  for  the  cheer  his  poor  heart  was 
too  dead  to  give.  For  each  one  there  was  a  home 
without  comfort,  where  nobody  smiled,  where  chil- 
dren's voices  were  hushed,  and  even  the  sick  had 
learned  to  stifle  their  moans.  Philip  thought  he 
would  like  to  see  Curran  once  more  ;  his  heart  was 
glowing  so  genially  for  him.  As  a  devotee  divides 
his  love  between  his  religion  and  the  prophet  who 
taught  it  to  him,  so  Philip  had  a  feeling  in  his  heart 
for  this  man  such  as  he  never  had  known  for  any 
man  before.  His  pulse  came  quick  at  the  hope  of 
speaking  with  him,  of  touching  his  hand  ;  he  longed 
to  tell  him  how  he   honored    him  ;   he  wanted    to 


MA  SQ  VERA  DING.  2 1 

pledge  him  his  friendship  if  he  would  stoop  to  take  it. 
Suddenly  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  on  his  shoulder. 

**  Praps  you  aint  got  no  place  to  go  to,  friend." 
It  was  his  big-whiskered  companion  in  the  hall, 
Graves.     Why  couldn't  he  have  kept  away  just  now  ? 

"  I  sort  o'  liked  your  looks  m  the  meetin'  to- 
night, and  you're  welcome  to  a  bed  at  my  house  if 
you  want  it." 

''  Oh  no,"  stumbled  Philip,  at  his  wit's  end. 

•'  Oh  no  ?  Why  not  then  ?  Where  be  you  goin' 
to  stay  1  "  and  the  man  took  his  hand  from  the  young 
man's  shoulder  and  eyed  him  suspiciously.  '*  Why, 
he  wanted  to  go  home  and  lay  off  his  masquerade 
forever.  Bertha,  all  radiant  in  all  that  wealth  can 
add  to  beauty,  was  awaiting  him.  He  had  so  much 
to  tell  her,"  but  he  had  nothing  to  say  aloud. 

"  I  won't  take  no  refusal,"  insisted  the  man,  tak- 
ing Philip  by  the  arm.  "-  No  words,  Jane  will  get 
along  easy  with  an  extra  for  once.  I  presume 
you've  slept  in  wuss  places." 


CHAPTER   III. 

An    Unwilling  Guest. 

PHILIP  thought  things  were  going  a  little  too 
far,  and  as  he  walked  along  with  his  undesirable 
host,  he  began  to  plan  escapes.  He  would  select  a 
certain  alley-way  or  dark  corner  for  an  attempt  at 
flight.  But  each  time  just  as  he  was  about  to  spring 
his  tall  companion  happened  to  be  just  in  his  way. 
So  finally  he  decided  to  see  his  adventure  through. 

The  moonlight  shimmered  on  the  green  leaves 
and  silvered  the  commonest  objects  near  their  path. 
Up  on  the  hill  to  his  left  he  could  see,  now  and  then, 
between  the  houses,  his  own  home  and  the  lights  in 
its  window  streaming  welcome  to  him.  The  tense 
mood  relaxed  in  him,  old  habits  of  thought  and 
association  made  themselves  felt  again ;  the  poor 
man  walking  heavily  by  his  side  seemed  a  thousand 
miles  removed  from  him.  No  doubt  the  poor  were 
unhappy,  but  as  the  vivid  sense  of  kinship  for  them 
faded  from  his  mind,  Philip  felt  more  able  to  com- 
fort himself  with  good  old  proverbs  and  maxims. 
Probably  his  father  and  a  thousand  others  as  wise 
and  kind  as  he,  were  as  sorry  for  the  unfortunate  as 


AN  UNWILLING   GUEST.  23 

himself.  Unfortunate — yes,  that  was  the  word — and 
misfortunes  of  course  are  to  be  borne  resignedly 
by  everybody,  including  the  lookers-on. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Graves,  as  he  led  the  mill- 
owner's  son  up  a  couple  of  rickety-looking  steps  to  a 
doorway.  A  mat  of  what  may  have  once  been 
bristles  lay  there  and  the  blank  panels  of  the  door 
stared  the  young  aristocrat  unpleasantly  in  the  face. 
He  was  not  pleased  at  all ;  he  had  seen  enough  pov- 
erty to-night,  he  did  not  care  to  particularize.  What 
was  the  use  of  distressing  himself  over  this  man's 
private  miseries  and  discomforts  ?  Wasn't  it  written 
in  all  the  books  of  political  economy  that — but 
Graves  opened  the  door  and  waited  for  his  unwilling 
guest  to  go  in  before  him.  The  poor  man's  heart 
was  warm  with  the  unwonted  exercise  of  hospitality. 
Far  from  him  to  suspect  he  was  entertaining  a  man 
whose  delicate  taste  would  revolt  against  the  best  he 
could  show  him. 

With  an  ungracious  frown  on  his  face  Philip 
entered  the  dimly  lighted  room,  his  great  boots  sound- 
ing with  startling  effect  on  the  bare  floor.  The  top- 
heavy  kerosene  lamp  was  turned  down,  perhaps  to 
hide  the  ugliness  of  the  room,  more  likely  to  save 
oil,  but  with  the  heartiness  of  a  true  host,  Graves 
turned  up  the  lamp  so  that  Philip  could  look  about 
him.  There  was  little  enough  to  see — a  round  pine 
table  with   a  little   blue,  cracked   crockery   on   it,  a 


24  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

rusty  cooking-stove,  two  or  three  dingy,  unpainted 
chairs.  There  was  something  more,  a  high-backed 
rocking  chair  with  a  faded  shapeless  chintz  cushion, 
and  what  seemed  to  be  a  sofa  in  one  corner.  At 
first  Philip  thought  the  room  had  been  unoccupied, 
but  as  Graves  turned  up  the  lamp  a  trifle  more,  he 
saw  it  was  a  woman  lying  upon  the  sofa,  a  woman 
with  sunken  black  eyes,  and  wan  colorless  cheeks, 
whose  loosely-bound  hair,  grey  before  its  time,  fell 
down  over  her  shoulders. 

"  The  woman  is  sick  or  she'd  get  up  and  speak  to 
you  ?  "  said  Graves  with  a  new  gentleness  in  his  voice, 
as  he  looked  at  the  wife  of  his  youth.  "  They  say 
she  might  get  well  if  we  could  pay  doctors'  bills. 
All  she  says  she  hopes  for  now,  is  to  die  and  rest. 
Eh,  Jennie  ?  " 

Philip  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  the  frown  had 
left  his  face,  the  same  expression  had  come  into  his 
eyes  and  upon  his  lips,  that  he  had  worn  at  the  meet- 
ing, and  even  under  his  paint  it  made  him  handsome. 
The  woman  did  not  speak,  but  the  questioning  look 
in  her  beautiful  eyes  seemed  to  reproach  her  hus- 
band for  bringing  a  stranger  there.  Was  this  the 
*'  Jane,"  Graves  had  spoken  of,  wondered  Philip, 
when  an  inner  door  opened  and  a  young  girl  entered. 

*'  Ah,  these  poor  people  have  one  thing  of  beauty 
to  solace  their  wretchedness."  The  courtly  Philip 
fairly  lost   his  self-possession   for  a  moment  at  the 


AN  UNWILLING  GUEST.  2 5 

unlooked-for  picture.  The  girl  who  stood  in  the 
doorway  was  not  tall,  and  the  outlines  of  her  figure 
were  so  perfect  as  to  give  perhaps  a  mistaken  im- 
pression of  slightness.  She  had  her  mother's  eyes, 
not  quite  large  enough,  but  with  a  rare  sheen  in 
them  ;  it  might  be  her  mother's  face,  too,  but  with 
the  bloom  of  perfect  health  lightening  up  its  olive. 

Involuntarily  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  bowed,  but 
as  the  girl  only  seemed  to  regard  him  as  one  might 
look  at  a  circus  tumbler,  Philip  relapsed  into  his 
seat,  in  the  humiliation  beauty  can  put  upon  the 
greatest  of  us. 

"  Nothin'  but  cold  potatoes  ?  Well  I  guess  they'll 
do  with  a  little  salt  and  a  piece  of  bread." 

"But  I  am  not  hungry?"  exclaimed  Philip 
eagerly.    "  I  had  a  hearty  meal  only  two  hours  ago." 

"  More  like  you  don't  like  what  we  can  set  before 
you  ?  Perhaps  you're  one  of  them  tramps  that 
turns  up  their  nose  at  anything  but  cake  and  pies." 

And  Graves  looked  at  his  guest  in  some  distrust, 
and  the  daughter's  red  lips  curled  scornfully  as  she 
waited  in  the  doorway. 

Philip  flushed  hotly.  '"  Oh  no,  there  is  nothing  I 
like  better,  I  only  thought  I  wouldn't  trouble  you." 
But  the  young  man  watched  the  girl  uneasily  as  she 
prepared  his  strange  meal  for  him.  Would  it  be  some- 
thing he  could  not  swallow?  He  had  been  a  little 
hasty  in  insisting  he  liked  nothing  better.     When  a 


26  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

man  is  lying  he  does  it  too  much  at  wholesale;  if 
people  would  only  lie  in  moderation,  as  they  tell  the 
truth,  it  would  be  so  much  safer. 

"  I  guess  he'll  get  along?"  said  the  man,  drawing 
up  to  the  table,  **  bring  a  pitcher  of  water,  Jane,  aint 
you  seen  times  friend,  you  would  have  smacked  your 
lips  for  as  much?" 

Philip  laughed  in  spite  of  himself,  but  nobody 
else  smiled  and  the  sick  woman  opened  her  eyes  in 
astonishment,  at  the  unusual  sound  of  laughter. 
Then  there  came  a  period  of  silence.  The  startling 
echoes  of  his  laugh  were  in  Philip's  ear,  and  he  was 
thoroughly  ashamed  of  himself.  He  tried  to  make 
amends  for  what  surely  was  unnatural  hilarity  by 
showing  his  thorough  appreciation  of  bread,  water, 
and  cold  potatoes.  He  took  up  his  knife  and  fork 
with  nervous  energy  and  cut  off  a  quarter  of  a  potato. 
Salt,  at  least,  he  was  accustomed  to,  and  he  made 
the  potato  white  with  it,  when  he  discovered  Mr. 
Graves  and  his  daughter  were  watching  him  very 
curiously.  Why  hadn't  he  known  enough  to  have 
stayed  at  home  ?  but  here  he  was,  and  he  must  rise 
to  the  emergency.  He  put  the  uninviting  morsel 
into  his  mouth.  Good  heavens !  did  the  poor  live 
on  such  food  as  this?  He  made  frantic  efforts  to 
swallow,  so  that  the  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Be  you  sick,  young  man  ?  " 

"  Did  Curran  speak  ?  "  interrupted  the  girl. 


AN  UNWILLING   GUEST.  2/ 

*'  Yes,"  answered  Philip  quickly,  glad  of  a  dis- 
traction. ''And  who  is  he — a  common  laborer?" 
Then  he  bit  his  lip. 

But  nobody  took  offence,  no  one  suspected  their 
guest  of  being  anything  above  a  common  laborer. 

The  purity  of  his  language  or  his  accent  would 
not  betray  him,  there  is  no  such  plain  badge  of 
class  in  this  country.  The  virtues  and  even  the 
refinements  are  pretty  evenly  distributed.  If  the 
rich  were  poor,  and  the  poor  rich  to-morrow,  a 
month  more  might  smooth  over  all  incongruous- 
ness. 

The  girl  was  nervously  picking  at  her  dress,  her 
head  bowed  away  from  him,  showing  a  wavy  mass 
of  black  hair.  Why  shouldn't  so  pretty  a  girl  have 
a  lover?  But  where  were  the  lines  of  content  and 
joy  that  love  ought  to  give?  Is  even  love  turned 
into  bitterness  for  the  poor  ?  Can  their  youths  and 
maidens  remember,  even  in  the  glow  of  love,  that  all 
paths  for  the  poor  lead  to  the  same  goal  of  hopeless 
wretchedness? 

"  Only  a  laborer,"  answered  Graves,  *'  a  weaver, 
but  he's  got  some  book  knowledge  somehow.  There 
aint  many  can  beat  him  at  talkin',  is  there  ?  " 

The  girl's  eyes  were  on  Philip  now,  impatient,  as 
he  fancied,  even  for  his  poor  tribute  to  her  lover's 
praise. 

"  He   is  wonderful,"  he  assented,  "  but  what   I 


2 8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S, 

don't  understand  is,  that  he  can  be  such  a  man  and 
still  a  weaver.     Where  did  he  learn  it  all  ?  " 

"Have  you  got  enough  to  eat?  Well,  knowl- 
edge has  got  pretty  well  through  all  classes  now, 
for  those  as  wants  it.  It's  there  for  all  who  have 
eyes  or  ears  for  it.  Why,  friend,  where  have  you 
been  all  your  life?  Brains  and  hearts  don't  go  by 
station.  I've  found  smarter  men  in  shops  and  mills 
than  most  we  send  to  Congress.  There's  thousands 
like  Curran,  if  they  only  got  the  stirrin'  he's  had 
someway.  Now,  Jane,  it's  about  time  you  got  this 
man's  bed  ready." 

.  Philip's  heart  jumped.  Of  course  he  couldn't  stay, 
but  what  excuse  could  he  give  for  coming  at  all, 
then  ? 

"  Be  you  lookin'  for  a  job?  "  asked  Graves,  after 
his  daughter  had  left  them. 

It  occurred  to  Philip  that  he  had  one,  if  he 
wanted  it — to  put  one  spark  of  happiness  into  such 
lives  as  these,  but  he  nodded.  The  man  looked  him 
over  rather  disparagingly. 

"  Well,  wash  yourself  up  and  black  your  boots  a 
bit,  and  I  guess  I  can  do  somethin'  for  you  in  the 
rhill.  It's  hard  work  and  small  pay,  but  we  never 
had  better,  you  and  me.  We  don't  well  know  what 
we  miss  bein'  poor,  we  miss  it  such  a  big  ways." 

"  How  long  has  Curran  lived  here  ?"  asked  Philip 
incoherently.     The  man  stared  at  him  a  moment. 


AN  UNWILLING  GUEST.  ?g 

''  Oh !  Curran,  he  aint  been  here  more'n  a  six 
month.  He's  'bout  as  queer  a  chap  as  you  be,  in  his 
way  ;  he  aint  got  no  folks  ;  he  lives  down  to  one  of 
them  factory  boardin'  houses,  but  don't  have  no 
friends,  or  talk  about  anythin'  but  what  you  heard 
to-night.  But  it's  all  useless."  Graves  looked 
gloomily  on  the  floor.  *'  We  aint  got  no  show  ;  the 
rich  are  too  many  for  us.  I  guess  it's  human  nature 
for  one  man  to  boss  the  crowd,  or  it  wouldn't  a 
always  been  so.  There's  the  girl,  she'll  show  you 
where  to  sleep.       Be  up  early  in  the  mornin',  now." 

The  only  course  for  him  seemed  to  be  to  follow 
the  girl,  and  Philip  rose  to  his  feet. 

''  Good  night,"  he  said.  The  sick  woman  opened 
her  eyes  in  surprise.  Such  people  as  they  found  no 
time  for  amenities  in  their  dreary  home.  Graves 
looked  around. 

"  What  ?  oh,  yes,  good-bye,  but  I'm  goin'  to  see 
you  in  the  mornin'." 

His  bed-room  on  which  the  roof  encroached 
greedily,  was  newly  whitewashed,  or  else  was  sel- 
dom used.  His  lamp  sat  on  a  wooden  chair  with  no 
back  to  it,  crowded  by  a  tin  wash-basin  with  his 
portion  of  water  half  filling  it,  and  a  round  black 
ball  of  soap.  Then  Philip  turned  to  look  at  the 
bed  they  had  made  for  him  on  a  slat  bedstead  with 
low  head-board  but  not  so  low  as  the  thin  pillow. 
How  many  times  must  anybody  double  the  pillow  to 


30  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

make  it  fit  for  his  head  ?  For  a  counterpane  was  the 
girl's  plaid  shawl  ;  he  had  seen  it  on  a  nail  down 
stairs.  Poor  little  girl,  she  would  want  it  very  early  in 
the  morning.  Then  he  glanced  in  the  eight-by-ten 
looking-glass  that  hung  on  the  white  wall.  Dis- 
guised !  his  own  father  would  not  have  known  him, 
and  he  had  a  sensation  of  double  consciousness  as 
he  saw  his  own  reflection.  Perhaps  Graves  was 
disguised  too,  and  all  the  ill-dressed  men  he  had  seen 
that  evening,  who  suffered  as  much  in  their  wretched 
lives  as  he  could,  who  could  enjoy  all  that  bright- 
ened his  own  life  as  much.  And  clothes  made  the 
difference  between  him  and  them,  apparently,  per- 
haps really.  The  world  managed  according  to  the 
clothes  standard — for  the  man  who  could  borrow  a 
broadcloth  suit,  comforts,  consideration,  happiness, 
— for  the  man  in  overalls,  weary  days,  cheerless 
houses,  hunger  and — bah !  Philip  pulled  off  his 
great  boots  and  threw  them  angrily  across  the 
room  ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  it  all. 

He  did  not  propose  to  spend  the  night  here,  of 
course,  and  face  the  family  and  his  job  in  the  mill  in 
the  morning,  but  he  might  as  well  lie  down  till  the 
house  was  asleep,  and  escape  became  possible.  But  he 
could  not  lie  down  with  all  his  paint  on,  and  spoil  the 
poor  little  pillow.  So  he  takes  off  his  yellow  whiskers 
and  makes  such  good  use  of  the  basin  of  water  and  the 
ball  of  soap,  that  when  he  next  looked  in  the  little  mir- 


AN  UNWILLING   GUEST.  3  I 

ror,  he  saw  no  longer  the  road-dusty  tramp,  but  the 
fresh,  kindly  face  of  a  young  man  who  has  never 
tasted  of  the  bitter  fountains  of  life.  He  started  as 
if  he  had  been  shot  ;  the  windows  had  no  curtains, 
and  any  passer-by  might  have  seen  his  transforma- 
tion. Then  came  a  heavy  step  on  the  stairs.  He  blew 
out  the  light  and  buried  himself  in  the  bed-clothes. 
In  a  moment  more  the  door  opened  and  Philip  was 
breathing  heavily. 

**  Asleep?''  it  was  the  voice  of  his  host.  *'  Well, 
I  s'pose  the  morning  will  do.  Pretty  tired,  I  guess  ; 
wonder  how  far  he  came  to-day,"  and  Graves  closed 
the  door  after  him  and  went  down  stairs  again. 

Of  course  Philip  was  not  going  to  sleep,  but 
there  would  be  no  harm  in  just  closing  his  eyes,  he 
could  think  so  much  better. 

Here  he  was  drinking  in  the  very  life  of  the 
poor,  a  strange,  terrible  life,  he  had  never  really  im- 
agined before.  He  had  seen  how  worn  and  broken 
were  their  men,  and  read  the  pathetic  lines  of  de- 
spair and  sullen  wretchedness  written  on  their  faces, 
as  if  in  silent  reproach  to  the  providence  that  had 
inflicted  the  unsoftened  curse  of  life  on  them.  He 
had  seen,  too,  their  hapless  girlhood,  which  beauty 
cannot  cheer,  which  love  only  makes  blacker,  as  the 
path  of  lightning  on  a  starless  night.  And  their 
sick,  with  no  nursing,  no  gentle  words,  no  comforts 
to  assuage  one  hour  of  pain.     Then  he  seemed    to 


32  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

be  in  the  hall  once  more,  and  thrilling  under  the 
eloquence  of  the  man,  Curran.  Suddenly  he  opened 
his  eyes  wide.  It  could  not  be  he  was  going  to 
sleep,  the  bed  was  too  hard — absurd — there  could 
be  no  danger.  But  in  five  minutes  the  heir  of  the 
Breton  Mills  was  sound  asleep  in  John  Graves'  gar- 
ret room. 

How  long  he  had  slept  Philip  had  no  more  idea 
than  Rip  Van  Winkle  on  a  former  occasion  ;  indeed 
it  took  him  a  ridiculously  long  time  to  separate 
dreams  and  facts  enough  to  get  his  bearings.  Was 
that  moonlight  in  the  east,  or  dawn  ?  Perhaps  the 
family  were  all  up  and  escape  would  be  impossible. 
He  bounded  to  his  feet  and  clutched  at  his  false 
whiskers,  but,  alas,  his  paint  was  all  dissolved  in  the 
tin  basin.  His  only  chance  was  in  getting  away 
unnoticed,  and  in  two  minutes  more  he  was  groping 
out  of  his  little  room  and  down  the  steep  stairs, 
boots  in  hand.  He  slowly  opened  the  door  into  the 
sitting-room.  What  if  Graves  stood  within  curiously 
watching.  An  odd  guest,  this  stealing  out  before 
day-break.  Again  Philip  wished  he  had  stayed  at 
home  that  night. 

Thank  God  !  no  one  was  in  the  room.  There 
was  the  cracked,  rusty  stove,  and  the  sofa  the  sick 
woman  had  lain  upon ;  there  was  the  dish  of  cold 
potatoes  on  the  table,  and  the  chair  he  had  sat  in 
while  he  tried  to  eat.     But  somebody  must  be  up 


AN  UNWILLING  GUEST.  33 

in  the  inner  room  ;  a  stream  of  light  made  a  white 
track  through  the  half  open-door.  Would  that  bolt 
never  slip — there.  It  slipped  with  a  vengeance,  and 
Philip  drew  back  into  the  staircase  in  mortal  terror. 
The  light  streak  on  the  floor  began  to  move  and  in 
a  moment  more  a  white  figure  stood  on  the  threshold 
of  the  bed-room.  It  was  Jane  Graves  with  her  long 
black  hair  about  her  neck  and  white  night-dress,  and 
her  eyes  glistening  brightly.  She  held  the  lamp  above 
her  head,  and  let  her  drapery  cling  fondly  as  it  chose 
about  a  form  that  would  have  charmed  a  sculp- 
tor. As  she  listened  he  could  see  her  wavy  hair  rise 
and  fall  over  her  beating  heart.  Would  she  notice  the 
open  stair  door,  and  come  forward  ?  What  then  ? 
He  must  push  her  rudely  to  one  side.  He  imagined 
her  startled  screams  and  the  father's  figure  hurrying 
into  the  scene  from  another  room  to  seize  the  inter- 
loper. No,  she  returns  to  her  room.  In  another 
instant  he  has  opened  the  door  and  is  walking  along 
the  street.  His  escape  was  well-timed  for  the  grey 
dawn  of  another  day  of  toil  and  weariness  is  creeping 
over  the  factory  village. 

The  houses  were  all  alike,  the  front  doors  just  as 
soiled,  the  steps  equally  worn,  the  paint  the  same 
cheerless  yellow  to  a  shade.  Through  the  windows 
of  one  of  them  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  tall  gaunt 
woman  building  the  kitchen  fire,  her  face  and  form 
lighted  up  by  the  flames  she  was  nursing.  His 
3 


34  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

ready  imagination  pictured  the  wan-featured  man 
who  must  be  her  husband,  out  of  whose  eyes  had 
faded  so  many  years  ago  the  last  Hngering  gleam  of 
tenderness.  He  imagined  their  old-faced,  joyless 
children  begrudged  the  scant  play  hours  of  child- 
hood. Trooping  behind  them  all,  he  pictured  a  long 
line  of  special  wants  and  sorrows,  the  companions  of 
their  days,  the  spectres  of  their  nights.  Their  houses 
looked  all  alike  as  he  walked  along,  so  their  lives 
might  seem  just  alike  at  first  thought.  Ten  hours 
for  each  in  the  same  mills — who  got  almost  the  same 
pittance  for  their  hot  work — and  must  spend  their 
pennies  for  almost  the  same  necessities.  But  infinite 
must  be  the  diversities  of  their  suffering. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Crying  for  the  Mooti, 

THE  strident  voices  of  four  hundred  looms  would 
seem  to  be  too  much  for  human  nerves,  but  the 
walls  of  the  weave-room  number  two  of  the  Breton 
Mills  are  hung  with  soiled  plaid  shawls  and  chip  hats, 
the  livery  of  the  factory  girl.  Their  restless  forms  are 
busy  among  the  rattling  machinery,  their  swift  cun- 
ning fingers  moving  harmlessly  where  mutilation 
would  seem  certain.  It  is  a  mere  matter  of  habit,  one 
look  at  most  of  the  set  pale  faces,  would  show  there 
was  no  brain  force  in  exercise.  Why,  the  overseer 
will  tell  you  those  girls  are  as  much  machines  as  the 
frames  and  belting;  though  they  undoubtedly  have 
one  advantage  for  the  employers,  the  girls  are 
cheaper.  The  wonderful  mechanism  of  those  looms, 
the  skillful  system  of  belts  and  pulleys,  and  the  enor- 
mous water-wheel  cost  a  fortune  ;  girls  can  be  bought 
in  the  market  any  day  for  a  crust  of  bread. 

Is  not  that  figure  familiar — the  one  that  stands 
this  moment  leaning  against  a  dingy  Avhite  pillar, 
while  the  rushing  belts  and  sliding  frames  seem 
hurrying  the  faster  all  about  her  ?    Yes,  on  the  piece 


36  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

of  wall  between  the  two  jail-like  windows  nearest  to 
her,  hangs  the  plaid  shawl  Philip  Breton  had  for  a 
counterpane  only  last  night.  Her  dress  is  soiled  and 
ill  made,  and  her  hair  tied  up  in  the  closest  and 
ugliest  coil  to  escape  the  greedy  machinery,  ever 
reaching  out  for  new  victims.  But  the  warm  soft 
tint  of  her  cheeks,  and  the  moist  sheen  in  her  black 
eyes,  were  always  the  same,  and  many  a  young  man 
would  rather  look  at  her  this  minute  than  turn  off 
an  extra  cut,  they  call  it,  of  cloth  at  twenty  cents. 
She  is  not  gazing  out  of  the  window  ;  Jane  Graves  is 
not  the  sort  of  girl  that  pines  for  the  glories  of  the 
hills,  or  the  speaking  silence  of  the  woods  ;  she  is  only 
looking  down  at  her  own  little  hand  and  noting 
how  stained  and  calloused  it  is. 

Her  days  used  to  be  more  terrible  to  her  even 
than  now.  She  had  wished  every  morning,  that  she 
might  die  before  night,  and  at  night  that  God  would 
take  her  before  morning  ;  take  her,  she  cared  not 
where,  no  place  could  be  worse,  certain.  Some 
women  seemed  made  for  sacrifice,  better  women  than 
she,  no  doubt.  She  could  only  enjoy  light  and 
gayety,  that  was  all  her  nature  was  pitched  just 
aright  for,  and  thoughtless  pleasure.  What  a  pretty 
hand  it  would  be  if  it  could  only  have  a  chance  to 
get  white  and  soft :  it  was  cruel  to  make  it  work. 
But  she  was  slowly  growing,  she  thought,  into  the 
dead  calm  that  all  the  rest  had  learned,  and  yet  how 


CRYING  FOR   THE  MOON.  3/ 

she  hated  the  great  massive  mills,  irresistible  giants 
that  held  her  with  deathless  grasp,  grimly  contemptu- 
ous of  her  writhings,  and  foolish  struggles.  The  over- 
seers, too,  how  she  hated  them :  their  sharp  words 
stung  her  like  the  lash  of  so  many  taskmasters,  and 
the  paymaster  who  doled  out  to  her  the  few  dollars, 
the  wages  of  her  blood  and  life,  as  if  that  could  be 
paid  for.  She  had  longed  so  many  times,  to  throw 
back  his  money  in  the  smiling  patronizing  face,  only 
the  poor  cannot  afford  the  dearest  of  all  luxuries, 
pride. 

Suddenly  the  mill  bell  rung  out  above  the  roar 
of  the  wheels,  and  at  its  voice  the  looms  stopped, 
the  breath  of  their  life  taken  away,  and  the  belts 
ceased  from  their  endless  race. 

Another  day's  work  was  closed,  and  the  poor  girls 
hurried  on  their  shawls  and  hats  as  if  at  last  some- 
thing pleasant  awaited  them,  and  went  out  in  chat- 
tering groups. 

Jane  Graves  hated  to  follow  the  awkward  throng, 
and  preferred  the  longer  way  home,  around  by  the 
hill.  Besides,  she  could  catch  the  breath  of  a  differ- 
ent life,  the  life  she  knew  she  was  meant  for,  the  life 
of  those  who  enjoy,  rather  than  the  life  of  those  who 
earn.  Wasn't  she  prettier  than  the  other  girls  ;  and 
what  good  had  her  beauty  done  her  yet,  but  won 
her  a  few  more  insults  she  was  too  poor  to  resent. 

''What   is   it,  Tommie?"     A   broad   shouldered 


38  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

young  fellow  had  left  the  crowd,  and  followed  her 
shyly  up  the  hill. 

''  Nothin'  much,  only,  may  I  walk  home  with 
you  : 

"  Will  that  do  you  any  good?     Hurry  up  then." 

He  was  an  honest-faced  young  fellow,  and  a  little 
better  dressed  than  most  of  the  admiring  group  that 
waited  about  the  mill-yard  gate,  to  see  Jane  Graves 
go  by. 

"  What  you  want  to  walk  round  here  with  me  for, 
I  can't  see.  They  can't,  work  you  very  hard,  Tom- 
mie,  if  you  want  so  much  extra  exercise." 

It  was  rather  a  contemptuous  laugh  she  had  for 
him,  but  she  showed  a  row  of  small  white  teeth,  that 
poor  Tommie  thought  were  very  beautiful. 

*'  I  wanted  to  say  somethin'  particular,  Jennie?" 
And  he  reached  down  his  big  dingy  hand  for  a  stalk 
of  grass,  and  began  pulling  it  nervously  to  pieces,  as 
he  kept  up  Avith  her  quick  feet.  They  were  just  pass- 
ing Mr.  EUingsworth's  house,  and  father  and  daughter 
stood  in  the  doorway.  No  doubt  Mr.  Ellingsworth 
had  just  come  home  to  tea.  He  held  his  tall  felt  hat 
in  his  hand,  while  he  waited  with  his  beautiful  daugh- 
ter, to  enjoy  the  soft  spring  mildness.  Jane  Graves 
could  see  in  behind  them.  How  could  they  bear  to 
stay  outside.  She  saw  a  white  spread  tea  table  glis- 
tening with  silver  and  rare  china,  soft-tinted  carpets 
and  pictures  in  rich  gilded  frames,  far  prettier,  she  was 


CR  YING  FOR   THE  MOON.  39 

sure,  than  anything  nature  had  to  show.  The  girl's 
face,  as  she .  stood  resting  her  white  hand  on  her 
father's  shoulder,  was  as  calm  as  the  twilight  itself 

*'  How  has  she  deserved  it  all  more  than  I  ?  She 
was  never  tired  in  her  life,  and  I  never  lie  down  at 
night  but  my  hands  and  feet  ache.  See  what  she  gets 
for  being  idle  ;  see  what  I  get  for  my  ten  hours'  work, 
every  day  since  I  was  a  child."  The  girl  stopped  a 
minute  ;  the  flash  of  resentment  faded  out  of  her  face. 
"  And  I  have  got  to  keep  it  up  till  the  end  ;  there's 
no  use  fretting  myself  If  I  only  knew  enough  not 
to  hope  for  anything  else,  I'd  get  along  well  as  the 
rest." 

The  young  man  by  her  side  was  a  good  deal  dis- 
tressed ;  he  looked  at  her  flushed  cheeks  that  were 
prettier  than  ever,  and  wondered  vaguely  what  it 
was  she  wanted  so  much. 

"Oh  no,  you  aint  like  the  rest,"  he  insisted,  and 
continued,  ''  We've  known  each  other  pretty  long, 
Jennie,  and — and," — he  had  pulled  the  grass  all 
to  pieces,  "  and  I  s'pose  you  know  how  I've — I  mean 
what  I've  felt.  I  am  doing  a  little  better  now." 
The  young  man's  eyes  brightened,  ''  I've  got  a  little 
money  left  me,  and  you  know  I'm  just  made  second 
hand." 

"What  is  that  to  me,  Tommie?  "  she  said  im- 
patiently. Her  woman's  soul  was  longing  for  the 
beautiful  life  of  the  rich,  whose  house  she  was  pass 


40  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

ing,  and  she  felt  too  the  admiring  glance  Mr.  Ellings- 
worth  had  given  to  her  graceful  figure.  Why  was 
this  awkward  boy  by  her  side  to  spoil  the  effect  ? 

Tommie  Bowler  winced,  but  ducking  his  round 
head  to  avoid  the  sharp  look  he  feared  was  in  the 
beautiful  eyes,  he  went  on  doggedly, 

"  I  s'posed  we'd  been  agoing  together  quite  a 
while  Jennie,  and  I  was  goin'  to  ask  you  when  you 
was  willin'  to  be  married." 

"  Married — to  you  ?  " 

Ah,  Tommie  Bowler,  what  were  you  thinking  of, 
to  want  to  marry  a  girl  who  had  such  a  tone  as  that 
for  you  ? 

Tears  of  shame  started  into  his  eyes.  "  I  aint 
so  low  ;  I  never  thought  but  what  you  would  be- 
fore." 

She  gave  him  a  look  half  curious  and  half  pitiful. 
He  might  as  well  have  cried  for  the  moon,  could  it 
be  the  lad  thought  that  just  because  she  was  pretty, 
she  could  make  his  home  happy  for  him,  his  ? 

"  I'm  not  going  to  have  a  hand  at  making  an- 
other poor  man's  home.  People  like  us  had  better 
be  single,  there's  only  half  the  trouble  that  way, 
Tommie." 

The  broad  shouldered  young  man,  who  did  not 
know  what  was  good  for  him,  fell  back  from  the 
woman  his  heart  hungered  for,  as  if  he  was  shot. 
And  she  walked  on  with  hardly  another  thought  for 


CR  YING  FOR   THE  MOON.  4 1 

the  foolish  lover  who  imagined  they  two  could  be 
happy  together. 

Why  couldn't  she  be  rich  ?  They  had  always 
told  her  she  was  beautiful.  If  she  only  had  a  chance. 
There  were  plenty  of  women  who  could  get  along  in 
the  poorest  homes,  let  them  ;  she  could  not.  She 
hated  every  breath  she  drew  in  them.  Sometimes 
she  hated  every  creature  she  saw  in  them.  They 
say  men  are  fools  over  pretty  women,  and  that  is 
the  only  hope  a  woman  has  of  winning  her  way.  If 
she  only  had  a  chance. 

A  delicate  grey  mist  floated  over  the  river  below 
the  village,  and  the  green  forests  and  fresh  meadows 
on  the  other  side  smiled  through  it  like  a  fair  woman 
through  her  tears.  A  tired  soul  might  have  drunk 
in  its  beauty,  and  been  rested,  and  Jane  Graves  cast 
her  eyes  down  on  the  dusty  road  before  her,  and 
walked  along  with  a  set  bitter  curl  on  her  bright  red 
lips,  and  did  not  once  look  at  the  gift  of  God's 
mercy  to  the  poorest  of  his  creatures.  P'^or  her  part 
she  despised  the  poor  ;  she  didn't  pity  them  ;  great, 
strong  men  who  submitted  to  be  trodden  on  and 
ground  under  the  feet  of  the  rich  ;  whose  blood 
and  muscles  and  quivering  flesh  were  weighed  in  the 
balance  against  a  few  dollars  of  the  speculators.  It 
was  good  enough  for  them  as  long  as  they  submitted 
to  it.  She  didn't  blame  the  rich  ;  they  were  the 
only  wise  people  ;  she  only  envied  them.     They  did 


42  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

well  to  take  all  they  could  get  and  walk  over  as  many 
thousands  as  would  fall  down  before  them.  Oh  !  if 
she  could  only  win  her  way  to  their  ranks.  But  the 
rich  men  do  not  come  into  the  weave-room  for  their 
enslavers. 

Suddenly  she  heard  a  step  behind  her ;  a  step 
she  knew  from  all  others  in  the  world,  and  the  whole 
air  seemed  to  tremble  with  a  new,  strange  heavenly 
impulse. 

"  Good  evening,  Jane." 

She  turned  with  a  new  sweet  shyness.  It  was 
Curran  the  agitator  who  was  beside  her.  A  soft 
flush  was  on  her  cheeks,  a  warm  light  in  her  eyes 
that  had  grown  larger  for  him,  in  delicious  surprise. 

''  Who  is  that  young  fellow  who  just  left  you  ?  " 

''  Oh,  one  of  my  lovers,"  she  answered  coquet- 
tishly,  dropping  her  eyes  before  his. 

'*  He  your  lover  !  "  repeated  Curran  in  his  impe- 
rious fashion,  "You're  not  for  such  as  he,  Jennie." 

Her  heart  fluttered  in  sweet  fear  at  the  meaning 
she  thought  in  his  words.  She  was  trying  to  walk 
very  slowly,  but  how  fast  they  seemed  to  pass  the 
houses. 

**  So  I  told  him,"  she  said. 

*'  You  did  well,  then,"  and  he  looked  down  ad- 
miringly on  the  girl.  You  are  a  fine  woman.  I 
don't  suppose  you  know  it." 

Jane  Graves  tried  to  look  as  if  it  was  news  to 


CR  YING  FOR  THE  MOON.  43 

her,  and  Curran  went  on.  ''Few  women  are  prettier. 
There  are  fine  prizes  for  such  as  you  in  this  world  if 
you  will  only  wait."  He  continued  thoughtfully, 
"  Men  have  to  work  for  distinction  ;  a  pretty  face 
brings  it  to  women." 

''  What  sort  of  prizes  ?  "  And  she  trusted  her- 
self to  look  up  at  him.  How  grand  he  was, 
with  his  firm,  strong  face.  If  he  only  had  a  touch 
of  weakness  in  him  that  might  bend  down  to 
her. 

''  Position,  money,  power." 

"  No  woman  cares  for  those."  And  she  believed 
it  as  she  spoke,  looking  away  over  the  river. 

"What  then?"  he  asked,  smiling.  ''Those 
things  are  what  all  men  are  working  for,  I  suppose." 

"Women  care  for  but  one  thing." 

Sometimes  the  climax  of  a  character  is  reached 
only  in  old  age,  when  storms  have  wreaked  their 
fury  for  a  lifetime  on  a  soul.  Sometimes  it  comes 
in  childhood,  with  threescore  years  of  decline  to 
come  after  it.  It  was  at  this  moment,  that  this 
girl's  life  reached  its  moral  height.  If  she  could  but 
have  kept  it. 

"  That  is  love,"  she  added  softly.  "  It  is  their 
lives  ;  they  hope  only  for  that ;  they  dream  only 
of  it." 

Curran  laughed,  but  gently,  as  he  took  her  hands 
at  parting  ;    pressing  them   perhaps  unconsciously, 


44  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

but  no  man  can  be  wholly  careless  to  such  beauty 
as  hers. 

"  It  is  only  because  women  are  more  foolish  than 
men,  not  because  they  are  more  devoted,  that  they 
are  able  to  make  such  absurd  mistakes." 

She  smiled  on  him  as  radiantly  as  a  red-petaled 
rose  unfolding  its  glowing  heart  to  the  morning  sun — 
the  sun  that  gives  everything  and  wants  nothing,  and 
stood  half  turned  watching  his  retiring  form.  And 
people  called  him  poor,  too,  and  friendless,  him 
whose  eloquence  made  him  each  day  new  lovers. 
And  as  for  poverty,  if  a  woman's  love  could  smooth 
its  path,  she  would  so  joyfully  shower  on  him  all 
the  gifts  of  tendern  essher  heart  was  so  rich  in — for 
him.  She  stood  looking  after  him  for  a  moment, 
hoping  he  might  turn  for  one  parting  glance,  whose 
sweet  memory  would  thrill  her  foolish  heart  all 
the  night  long.  The  road  at  this  point  passed  near 
a  deserted  ruin  ;  once  a  brick  saw-mill,  which  had 
shorn  the  hills  and  valleys  around  of  their  pride, 
now  a  favorite  trysting  place  for  lovers  of  moon- 
light-nights like  this  would  be.  Curran  was  just 
entering  under  an  arch,  where  once  had  swung  a 
heavy  oaken  door  which  long  ago  had  served  some 
shivering  family  for  a  week's  firewood. 

He  went  in  and  did  not  once  turn.  How  cruel 
men  are.  Perhaps,  she  told  lierself,  he  is  to  meet 
there  some  messenger  of  the  Great  League  he  had 


CRYING  FOR   THE  MOON.  45 

told  her  about,  and  they  will  plan  together  some 
bold  stroke.  It  was  beautiful  to  have  such  power, 
even  if  it  made  him  forget  this  one  poor  girl,  whose 
heart  longed  so  eagerly  for  another  smile. 

The  whole  world  seemed  glorified  to  the  girl  as 
she  walked  on.  She  had  loitered  so  long  that  the 
sun  was  now  almost  setting,  with  his  flowing  robe  of 
carmine  about  him,  and  the  whole  landscape  seemed 
in  a  rapture  of  silent  worship.  Jane  Graves  was 
like  one  in  a  dream — her  home,  which  she  could  tell 
from  its  cheap  dreary  counterparts,  might  have  been 
a  palace  ;  the  path  along  in  front  of  it,  beaten  by  so 
many  faltering  footsteps,  seemed  only  pleasantly 
familiar  to  her.  She  wondered  vaguely  why  the 
mill-owner's  mansion  in  the  distance  had  seemed  so 
grim  and  hateful  to  her.  What  had  she  seen  to  envy 
in  anybody's  life  that  had  not  her  dear  hope  ! 

But  down  the  hill  comes  a  great  white  horse, 
tossing  his  mane  and  curvetting  in  the  pride  of  his 
strength  and  beauty. 

Its  rider  who  held  the  rein  so  gracefully  must  be 
young  Philip,  the  mill-owner's  son  ;  he  had  just  fin- 
ished college,  they  said.  So  that  was  the  young  man 
Bertha  Ellingsworth  was  engaged  to  ;  not  ill  looking, 
and  he  rode  well.  The  girl  smiled  to  herself.  *'  But 
Bertha  Ellingsworth  had  not  seen  Curran." 

*'  Did  he  lift  his  hat  to  me  ?"  She  looked  inquir- 
ingly about  her.      "  There  is  no  one  else,  and  his 


46  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

black  eyes  seemed  to  know  me,  too  ;  how  odd  !  " 
thought  the  girl,  as  she  walked  on  more  hastily,  and 
the  horse  and  its  rider  disappeared  in  a  cloud  of 
dust. 

"  And  it  seems  as  if  I  had  seen  him  somewhere, 
too." 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  Ruin  by  Moonlight 

BERTHA  lay  back  indolently  in  her  favorite  arm 
chair,  watching  the  deepening  twilight  from 
her  parlor  window.  Her  eyes  were  almost  closed, 
and  Philip,  affecting  to  be  interested  in  Mr.  Ellings- 
worth's  conversation,  thought  he  might  look  at  her 
as  fondly  as  he  chose  without  discovery  and  rebuke. 
He  was  sure  he  was  not  noticed,  but  the  girl  was 
quite  enjoying  his  silent  offering — so  long  as  he  did 
not  guess  she  perceived  it.  If  a  girl  must  have  a 
lover,  Philip  did  very  well.  At  least  he  knew  she 
was  not  one  of  the  sentimental  girls,  with  unlimited 
capacity  for  foolishness.  Yes,  Philip's  manners  were 
nearly  as  good  as  her  father's,  who  had  not  kissed 
her  for  ten  years.  Not  that  she  would  have  endured 
it  for  an  instant  if  Philip  had  not  wanted  to  make 
love  to  her — that  would  have  been  an  insult.  Her 
lover  was  no  divinity  to  her ;  she  saw  all  his  faults  as 
clearly  as  anybody ;  not  with  impatience,  however, 
that  was  not  her  temperament.  For  example,  he 
was  too  short,  and  his  shoulders  were  too  slight. 
She  never  forgot  it  for  an  instant.      But  then  he  al- 


48  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

ways  did  what  she  said,  and  that  was  very  conve- 
nient, and  yet  she  was  half  provoked  with  him  for  it. 
A  man  ought  to  command  a  woman's  love,  not  try 
to  coax  it  from  her.  He  thought  quite  too  much 
of  her  for  what  she  returned  him  ;  he  ought  to  be 
stern  and  cold  to  her  sometimes,  and  give  her  a 
chance  to  be  something  besides  an  ungrateful  recip- 
ient. But  perhaps  she  would  not  like  him  at  all  in 
that  character.  She  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  wide 
and  looked  curiously  at  her  lover  ;  there  is  nothing 
so  chilling  as  such  a  look  as  that,  and  Philip  winced 
under  it. 

"  Well,  I  suppose  you  two  are  bursting  with 
tender  confidences,"  smiled  Mr.  Ellingsworth  as  he 
rose  to  his  feet,  "  I  really  won't  stay  a  minute 
longer."  He  moved  towards  the  door,  then  he 
smiled  and  looked  around  ;  he  had  thought  of  some- 
thing very  funny.  "  Now  Philip,  my  dear  boy,  you 
mustn't  be  too  sure  of  her  just  because  she  seems  so 
affectionate.  That  is  where  a  young  man  makes 
his  worst  mistake.  As  long  as  there  is  another  man 
in  the  world,  he  may  have  hope,  that  is,  the  other 
man." 

His  daughter  looked  coolly  after  him,  *'  Must 
you  go  ?  why  Ave  shall  die  of  ennui.  We  shall  have 
to  take  a  walk  ourselves.  Excuse  me,  Philip,  while 
I  get  ready." 

Left  alone,  the  young  man  rose  and  went  to  the 


A  RUIN  BY  MOONLIGHT.  49 

window,  and  looked  out  at  the  evening  sky.  There 
was  a  Httle  frown  on  his  face.  ''  What  an  unpleas- 
ant way  of  talking  Bertha's  father  had.  One  would 
think  he  believed  in  nothing.  There  was  no  danger 
of  his  feeling  any  too  sure  of  her  ;  how  far  away  she 
seemed  to  him.  The  idea  of  marriage  seemed  vague 
and  dreamlike,  and  yet  he  had  her  promise." 

**You  may  adjust  my  shawl  for  me."  His  vexa- 
tion fled,  and  he  smiled  with  the  sweet  complacency 
of  possession  as  he  laid  the  delicate  bit  of  lace  about 
her  warm  shoulders.  To-night  would  be  a  good 
time  to  turn  his  idea  into  a  reality,  and  ask  her 
when — 

''  But  you  must  promise  me  one  thing,"  she  said, 
standing  close  to  him  for  one  moment. 

''  What  is  that.  Bertha,  dear  ?''  he  asked  with 
guilty  uneasiness. 

She  put  her  soft  white  hand  in  his  so  charm- 
ingly, that  he  was  suddenly  sure  it  could  be  nothing 
hard  she  would  require. 

''  I  promise,"  he  assented. 

''  No  love-making  in  the  ruin,  if  I  let  you  take 
me  there." 

"  Why,  Bertha  !''  he  exclaimed,  so  sorrowfully, 
that  he  showed  his  whole  plan.     The  girl  laughed. 

"  You  are  too  cunning,  by  half,  Mr.  Philip,  but 
then  you  know  love-making  in  the  saw-mill  is  too 
common.       Why  it  is  the  rendezvous  of  all  the  fac- 


50  TTIE  BRETON  MILLS. 

tory  hands.  No,  I  couldn't  think  of  it  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

*'  Then  I  won't  insist  on  taking  you  to  the  old 
saw-mill." 

"  Oh,  yes!  it  is  charming  by  moonlight." 

"  One  would  think  you  hadn't  any  heart." 
Philip  did  not  confess  the  peculiar  charm  this 
woman's  very  coldness  had  for  him  ;  there  was  some 
quality  in  it  that  was  irresistibly  exciting  to  his 
nature.  Perhaps  it  was  the  presence  of  an  uncon- 
scious reserve  of  passion,  never  yet  revealed,  that  he 
felt  in  her,  that  kept  his  heart  ever  warm,  and  his 
eyes  ever  tender  for  its  unveiling. 

The  round-faced  servant  girl  had  come  up  from 
tha  kitchen,  and  stood  awkwardly  at  the  door. 

''  Yes,  you  may  light  the  gas  now,  Annie,  we  are 
going  out."  She  laid  her  hand  lightly  on  Philip's 
arm  as  they  went  down  the  walk.  "  I  must  really 
have  a  maid.  That  Annie  is  too  clumsy  for  me  to 
endure  in  the  parlor  or  dining-room.  Oh,  yes,  I 
probably  have  got  a  heart,  some  time  it  will  frighten 
you,  perhaps." 

They  walked  slowly  along  the  street,  passing  the 
very  spot  where  Tommie  Bowler  had  offered  his  poor 
little  all  to  Jane  Graves  only  an  hour  or  two  ago. 
Their  feet  trod  carelessly  on  the  bits  of  grass  the 
nervous  lover  had  scattered  along  the  path. 

''  But  you  haven't   told  me  about  the  meeting. 


A  R  UIN  B  V  MOONLIGHT.  $  I 

Did  the  agitator  have  auburn  curls  as  I  said?  That 
is  the  clearest  idea  I  have  got  of  a  hero/' 

As  he  told  her  his  adventure  they  reached  the 
ruin  and  went  in.  The  moonlight  poured  through 
the  dismantled  roof,  and  made  a  white  track  for 
itself  over  the  uneven  floor,  leaving  the  rest  of  the 
interior  in  the  shadow.  Such  as  remained  of  the 
fallen  rafters,  made  convenient  benches  for  visitors, 
who  might  easily  enough  imagine  themselves  in 
some  old-world  ruin.  And  the  young  mill-owner's 
son  and  Bertha,  the  hem  of  whose  garment  had 
never  touched  poverty,  seated  themselves  where 
many  a  penniless  young  fellow  had  wooed  some 
pretty  weaver  maid  to  share  his  destitution,  all  for 
love, — soon  starved  out  of  both  their  lives. 

Philip  felt  all  his  last  night's  enthusiasm  coming 
over  him  again,  as  he  described  the  meeting  of  the 
hopeless  poor  and  the  life  of  the  family  that  had 
taken  him  in.  And  he  seemed  to  be  again  thrilled 
with  Curran's  eloquence  as  he  pictured  his  noble 
presence,  and  tried  to  repeat  his  vivid  sentences. 
Was  Bertha  listening  so  patiently  to  him  or  only  idly 
watching  the  shadows  as  they  shifted  with  the  moon  ? 
He  hoped  she  was  touched.  She  could  help  him  so 
much  to  do  something  for  the  thousand  souls  in  the 
mills  if  there  was  anything  could  be  done.  And  then 
it  seemed  so  sweet  to  have  an  earnest  thouf]:ht  and 
hope  in  common — one  more  bond  to  unite  them. 


52  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  But  what  can  I  do,  Bertha,  it  is  all  so  mixed  up  ? 
Do  you  suppose  my  father  would  listen  to  me — but  if 
he  would,  what  can  I  propose?  If  I  tell  him  the 
people  are  poor  and  unhappy,  he  know^s  all  that. 
I  can't  ask  him  to  divide  all  his  wealth  with  them, 
that  wouldn't  last  so  many  very  long,  and  then  he 
couldn't  employ  them  any  more ;  they  would  be 
spoiled  for  work,  and  we  would  all  starve  together." 

"  I  wish  I  could  see  him,"  said  the  girl  slowly. 

He  looked  at  her  blankly.     *'  Why?" 

Hadn't  she  heard  what  he  had  just  said  so  eager- 
ly? He  felt  like  one  who  had  plunged  into  what  he 
thought  a  rippling  river  and  found  it  ice. 

"Curran,  you  called  him." 

Suddenly  a  double  tread  of  feet  without  and  the 
forms  of  two  men,  one  much  taller  than  the  other, 
blocked  the  doorway. 

*'  Hush,  then,"  whispered  Philip,  excitedly. 
"There  he  stands." 

The  men  came  forward  till  they  stood  directly  in 
the  path  of  the  moonlight,  which  seemed  to  clothe 
them  with  its  silver  sheen.  No  need  to  tell  her  which 
was  he  ;  the  girl  bent  eagerly  forward  and  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  majestic  figure  that  stood  with  folded 
arms. 

"I  am  very  late,"  began  the  shorter  man,  apolo- 
getically. 

Curran  did  not  reply  and  the  man  went  on  in  a 


A  ^  UIiV  B  V  MOONLIGHT.  5  3 

minute  more.     *'  What  is  the  news?  I  want  to  report 
your  village,  you  know." 

"There  is  no  news.  It  is  the  same  old  story. 
What  is  the  good  of  reporting  and  reporting,  and  then 
doing  nothing?"  The  words  escaped  between  his 
teeth  like  the  staccato  tones  of  a  cornet.  "  I  am  sick 
of  the  word  *  wait,*  it  is  the  resource  of  the  weak." 

"  But  we  are  weak.     Give  us  time." 

Curran  unfolded  his  arms  with  a  gesture  of  impa- 
tience. 

''  The  injustice  has  got  its  growth  ;  it  has  fattened 
on  our  flesh  and  blood,  and  sucked  out  the  life  of 
untold  generations  before  us."  His  eyes  shone 
fiercely  on  the  man  of  caution.  ''  I  believe  the  time 
has  come  to  destroy  it,  and  the  crime  of  murder  lies 
at  our  consciences  for  every  crushed  soul  sacrificed 
for  our  delay." 

PhiHp  fancied  Bertha  trembled. 

*'  But,"  began  the  stranger  in  the  metallic  voice  of 
the  objector,  "  the  officers  of  the  League  think  the 
laborers  are  not  ready." 

**  No,  nor  will  they  ever  be ;  they  have  submitted 
too  long.  But  they  are  always  good  for  action  if 
somebody  will  lead  them.  They  hang  on  our  lips, 
but  we  do  not  speak." 

''Yes,  we  are  spreading  intelligence,  sending  out 
orators  like  you ;  we  are  arranging  political  cam- 
paigns.    By  and  by  capital  will  be  more  reasonable." 


54  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  Do  you  fancy  then,"  retorted  Curran  bitterly, 
'*  that  the  rich  will  willingly  open  their  coffers  to  the 
logical  workmen,  out  of  whose  earnings  they  have 
filled  them  ?  Isn't  it  too  delightful  to  be  able  to 
build  a  palace  for  a  home,  and  create  another  para- 
dise for  a  garden  ;  to  marry  off  their  sons  and  daugh- 
ters when  the  first  coo  of  love  trembles  on  their 
young  lips?  Then  will  they  divide,"  and  he  raised  his 
voice  with  terrible  emphasis,  "  when  there  is  no 
escape  from  it.  As  long  as  the  people  submit,  if  it 
be  till  the  trump  of  doom,  so  long  the  lords  and  mas- 
ters will  defraud  them  of  the  price  of  their  labor;  so 
long  their  wives  and  daughters  will  look  down  com- 
placently on  the  sufferings  of  the  million,  one  of  whom 
starves  for  every  piece  of  finery  they  smile  to  wear." 

Philip  felt  Bertha  tremble  again,  but  her  eyes 
never  once  wavered. 

*'  What  do  you  propose  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  muttered  Curran,  turning  his 
head  half  away,  ''  but  when  I  see  the  silent  raging  in 
the  hearts  of  the  poor,  when  I  see  the  riches  squeezed 
out  of  their  scant,  ill-fed  blood,  I  am  mad  with  im- 
patience. But  I  suppose  all  great  changes  come 
most  beneficently  if  they  are  slow.  Then  there  are 
no  heart  sickening  reactions.  Come  out  into  the 
open  air.     It  seems  close  here." 

The  two  men  went  out  and  the  indistinct  mur- 
mur of  their  voices  was  all  could  be  heard. 


A  RUIN  BY  MOONLIGHT.  55 

*'  How  do  you  like  my  hero  ? "  said  Philip, 
pleased  that  Bertha  should  have  a  chance  to  learn 
from  the  same  source  he  had  been  so  stirred.  Now 
she  could  sympathize  perfectly  with  him,  in  the  new 
idea  that  he  felt  must  have  such  a  great  influence 
over  his  life. 

'-'•  He  is  coming  back,"  she  whispered  breathlessly, 
"  alone." 

Curran  looked  in  astonishment  at  two  figures 
starting  toward  him,  out  of  the  shadows.  He  recog- 
nized them  at  once. 

"  Well,  I  hope  you  may  have  learned  some  use- 
ful truths,"  he  said  scornfully,  looking  the  young 
man  full  in  the  face. 

Bertha's  lip  quivered,  and  she  came  close  to  him 
in  the  moonlight  and  laid  her  white  hand  on  his 
arm.  "We  did  not  mean  to  overhear  your  secrets," 
she  said  earnestly,  "  but  surely  it  could  do  no  harm 
to  listen  to  such  beautiful  words.  They  seemed  to 
be  wasted  on  the  one  you  meant  them  for.'' 

Philip  looked  at  Bertha  in  startled  surprise  ;  he 
hardly  knew  her :  then  he  glanced  at  Curran  whose 
curled  lip  softened  its  stern  lines.  The  girl's  bonnet 
had  fallen  back  on  her  neck,  and  her  face  was  turned 
up  toward  his  in  the  perfection  of  graceful  entreaty, 
her  big  blue  eyes  showing  dark  in  the  evening.  The 
agitator  glanced  at  her  sparkling  diamonds,  and  the 
rich  lace  shawl  that  lay  over  her  shoulders,  then  back 


5  6  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

into  the  beautiful  upturned  face,  and  at  last  his  eyes 
fell  before  hers.  His  boldness  was  gone  ;  his  scorn 
and  contempt  for  the  women  of  the  rich  changed 
to  timidity  before  her. 

''  Don't  distress  yourself,  my  dear  lady,''  he  said 
at  last,  "  there  is  no  harm  done,  I  am  sure." 

As  his  tense  mood  relaxed,  the  charm  that  had 
so  transformed  the  girl  seemed  broken,  and  she  drew 
back  as  if  in  surprise  at  finding  herself  so  near  him. 

**  But  I  want  you  to  tell  me  what  I  can  do,''  said 
Philip,  rather  vaguely,  hesitating  a  moment  in  the 
doorway. 

Curran  looked  keenly  into  the  young  man's  kind 
face. 

"And  you  want  to  do  what  you  can  ?  "  he  re- 
peated thoughtfully,  '*  I  hardly  know  where  to  begin, 
there  is  so  much.'' 

The  walk  home  was  a  silent  one,  till  almost  the 
end. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  am  going  to  do  to-mor- 
row, Bertha  ?  I  am  going  to  put  on  the  old  clothes 
again." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  rather  boyish  ?  " 

"  I'm  in  earnest  this  time.  I  am  going  to  learn 
how  to  make  cloth,  and  find  out  just  how  hard  the 
work  is,  and  just  how — why  Bertha,  are  you  yawn- 
ing?" 

They  had  reached  her  doorway.    She  looked  very 


A  RUIN  B  V  MOONLIGHT.  5/ 

sweet,  even  when  smothering  a  yawn  with  her  two 
fingers,  as  she  stood  on  the  step  above  him,  and 
gazed  off  on  the  river.  His  fooHsh  heart  began 
to  beat. 

"  Bertha,  we  are  not  at  the  saw-mill  now,  and — " 
She  smiled.      ''  But  you   were  not  to  say  any- 
thing if  I  let  you  take  me  there,  and  I  have  let  you, 
haven't  I?" 

"  But  aren't  you  ever  going  to  consent  to — " 
'■'■  There,"  she  stamped  her  foot  playfully.  ''  You 
are  almost  breaking  your  promise,"  then  she  looked 
at  his  reproachful  face  and  let  him  take  her  hand  and 
kiss  it  all  he  chose.  "  You  know  there  is  a  sort  of 
solemnity  in  the  kind  of  business-like  talk  you  want 
so  much.  But  I'll  promise  this,  if  you  will  be  patient 
for  just  one  month,  you  can  say  what  you  please 
to  me." 

Philip  went  off  in  great  glee,  and  his  horse  Joe 
could  not  leap  too  high  to  suit  him,  for  what  Bertha 
had  said  was  almost  what  he  asked.  One  month 
from  to-day,  that  would  be  a  Friday  early  in  the 
morning. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  Day  Off. 

JANE  GRAVES  was  putting  on  her  hat  and  faded 
plaid  shawl  for  another  dreary  day's  work.  It 
was  a  cloudy  morning,  and  even  for  a  girl  in  love  it 
is  hard  work  to  be  sentimental  such  mornings.  She 
wondered  what  she  ever  could  see  poetic  in  life.  If 
she  only  did  her  work  well,  so  as  to  escape  repri- 
mand, she  might  come  to  take  a  kind  of  pride  and 
pleasure  in  it  as  the  rest  did,  till  their  strength  and 
spirit  was  broken.  But  as  it  was  she  hated  it  with 
all  the  passion  of  her  nature.  She  saw  nothing  in  it 
but  slavery  and  degradation,  and  in  her  impatience, 
thought  she  would  rather  die  than  drag  out  her  life 
thus.  Somebody  must  do  the  work,  but  not  such 
as  she,  surely. 

"  Come  here,  my  dear." 

She  had  been  lingering  aimlessly,  only  that  she 
dreaded  to  turn  her  feet  toward  the  factory,  whose 
tolling  bell  rung  sternly  in  her  ears.  Now  she  ap- 
proached her  mother's  bed  with  a  gentler  expression 
on  her  face. 

The   thin  hands   were  laid   on  her  arm,  and  the 


A  DA  V  OFF.  59 

sick  woman  drew  the  girl's  head  down  on  the  pil- 
low beside  her  own. 

"  Was  I  ever  so  pretty  as  you,  I  wonder,"  she 
said  wistfully.  *'  They  used  to  say  I  was  the  pret- 
tiest in  the  village."  And  the  sunken  eyes  brightened 
at  sweet  memories,  the  sweetest  in  the  world  to  a 
woman. 

''  It  did  you  little  good,  mother,"  said  the  girl  in 
a  muffled  voice. 

In  a  moment  more  she  started  up — 

"  There,  mother,  I  am  late  again  ;  a  quarter  days 
pay  lost,  and  a  scolding  gained." 

The  sick  woman's  eyes  opened  wide,  and  the  girl 
waited  one  sad  minute  more,  to  see  how  terribly 
white  the  poor  face  looked  even  against  her  pillow. 

''  I  had  something  to  say,  I  thought,"  said  the 
woman  eagerly,  ''  but  I  can't  remember,  I  am  so  sick. 
But  perhaps  it  wasn't  anything.  You  may  go  now, 
dear,  I  am  sorry  I  kept  you." 

The  girl  pinned  her  shawl  about  her.  What 
good  of  looking  in  the  glass.  It  could  only  tell  her 
she  was  pretty,  as  her  mother  used  to  be,  and  re- 
mind her  what  a  fool  she  was  tt)  expect  a  different 
fate.  Fifteen  years,  and  she  might  be  sick  and 
broken  on  this  very  bed,  perhaps  telling  her  own  un- 
happy child,  how  pretty  she  used  to  be.  The  girl 
shuddered  at  the  picture,  as  she  went  .out  of  her 
mother's  room. 


6o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

'*0h!  I  remember  now,"  called  the  sick  woman. 

*'  Did  you  want  the  tea  put  near  you  ?  "  asked 
the  girl,  coming  back  wearily. 

"  It  is  not  that — but — but  you  are  not  to  go  to 
work  to-day.  Somebody  is  coming  to  see  you.  He 
wants  you  to  live  with  him." 

"What,  to  marry  me?"  exclaimed  the  girl  in 
astonishment. 

"  He  didn't  speak  of  that,"  smiled  her  mother 
languidly,  but  I  can't  talk  any  more,  I  am  so  tired." 

Jane  Graves  had  learned  one  lesson  of  poverty, 
not  to  hope.  So  after  this  strange  announcement 
of  her  mother's  she  only  laid  off  her  hat  and  shawl, 
and  waited.  After  looking  idly  out  of  the  window 
for  a  while,  and  seeing  nothing  that  had  not  worn 
itself  into  her  very  soul  years  ago,  the  vague  woman 
instinct  stirred  in  her,  and  she  moved  about  the 
house  arranging  things.  She  found  a  little  map  that 
hung  in  the  sitting-room,  a  little  awry,  and  straight- 
ened it.  It  was  a  dingy  map  of  China  that  had 
come  once  with  a  pound  of  tea,  and  she  wanted  to 
throw  it  away,  but  the  wall  looked  too  bare  Avithout 
anything.  She  took  down  a  couple  of  ugly  little 
gift  chromos  her  father  had  placed  on  the  mantel- 
piece, and  tore  them  up  in  disgust.  There  seemed 
nothing  else  to  do,  there  was  so  littk  to  arrange. 
She  wasn't  so  sure  but  it  was  better  in  the  mill, 
— perhaps  it  was  a  blessing  the  poor  were  kept  so 


A  DAY  OFF.  6l 

many  hours  in  its  grim  walls,  where  at  least  there 
was  but  little  chance  to  think.  What  was  there  to 
long  for  in  such  homes  and  such  leisure  as  this  ? 

She  stepped  to  the  closet  and  took  out  a  well 
thumbed  book,  and  sat  down.  She  turned  two  or 
three  pages,  and  then  counted  how  many  times  she 
had  read  them  before,  and  she  felt  sick  with  the 
foolish  hopes  and  dreams  the  oft  read  book  had 
used  to  wake  in  her. 

She  laid  it  away  with  a  sigh  and  picked  up  an 
old  newspaper.     How  slow  the  forenoon  went. 

She  read  down  the  advertising  columns ;  how 
many  beautiful  things  in  the  world,  and  all  for  sale  ! 
Somebody  must  have  the  money  to  buy  them 
or  the  stores  wouldn't  be  running.  Where  was  it 
all  ?  did  anybody  work  any  harder  for  it  than  her 
father  and  herself?  Jane  Graves  opened  her  little 
pocket-book  and  shook  it  over  the  table ;  but  it  was 
as  empty  as  the  day  she  bought  it. 

Then  there  came  a  light  tap  on  the  street  door. 
This  must  be  the  ''  gentleman,"  this  tall,  elegant 
figure  in  a  checked  summer  suit ;  and  he  actually 
lifted  his  hat  to  her. 

"  My  name  is  Ellingsworth."  He  needn't  have 
told  her;  he  had  figured  in  the  girl's  fancy  for  years 
as  the  very  impersonation  of  rank  and  wealth. 

"  I  called  about  a  maid.  Mr.  Graves  gave  me 
leave  to  speak  with  his  daughter.     Is  she  in  ?  " 


62  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

*' I  suppose  I  am  the  one.     Will  you  come  in?" 

She  watched  him  as  he  crossed  the  room  to 
the  nearest  chair.  How  much  lighter  he  walked 
than  she  could  ;  and  one  might  have  thought  from 
his  unconsciousness  that  he  had  been  used  to  just 
such  a  miserable  room  as  this  all  his  life.  He 
showed  no  surprise  at  her  being  the  prospective 
maid  servant ;  no  doubt  he  knew  it  all  the  time  and 
the  way  he  spoke  was  only  a  part  of  his  good  man- 
ners. But  then  she  could  not  imagine  his  showing 
surprise  at  anything. 

"  There  will  be  but  little  to  do,"  Mr.  Ellings- 
worth  continued,  looking  at  her  face  and  not  seem- 
ing to  see  how  ill  she  was  dressed.  "  There  is  only 
my  daughter  ;  you  may  have  seen  her,  yes ;  and 
myself.  The  wages  will  be  small,"  and  he  named 
them  and  smiled  apologetically,  as  if  he  expected 
her  to  decline.  "  Your  father  spoke  to  me  as  if  you 
did  not  like  the  factories." 

Out  at  service  ;  well,  why  not  ?  Could  it  be  any 
more  degrading  than  the  life  she  had  lived  ?  and 
such  wages,  too.  Why,  she  could  dress  quite  pret- 
tily then  ;  and  her  girlish  heart  fluttered.  And  she 
could  leave  ugly  things  and  rude  people  ;  and 
breathe  perfumes  and  have  only  graceful  surround- 
ings ;  what  matter  if  they  were  not  hers. 

She  would  be  lifted  right  up  into  the  very  atmos- 
phere she  longed  for  ;  yesterday  she  had  envied  the 


A   DAY  OFF.  63 

EIHngsworths,  to-morrow,  perhaps,  she  would  share 
their  beautiful  life  with  them.     Why  not  ? 

She  lifted  her  bright  eyes  to  his  face.  It  was  in 
half  profile  at  this  moment,  and  she  could  see  his 
hair  was  just  touched  with  grey  ;  how  could  men  in 
his  world  ever  grow  old  !  He  was  smooth  shaved, 
showing  in  full  effect  the  delicate  cynical  curve 
of  his  thin  lip  and  the  clearly  defined  outlines  of 
his  chin  which  struck  the  girl  as  having  a  touch 
of  weakness  in  it.  He  must  have  been  very  oddly 
affected  by  the  poverty  pictured  so  unmistakably 
about  him  ;  but  there  was  not  the  smallest  sign  of  it 
on  his  well  bred  face. 

"  I  will  go,"  she  said  abruptly,  *'  when  do  you 
want  me  ?  " 

*'  I  shall  be  away  for  a  fortnight,"  he  said  rising, 
with  his  own  admirable  smile.  '*  You  can  come 
when  I  return." 

She  rose  too ;  but  could  think  of  nothing  proper 
to  say,  but  how  poverty-stricken  she  would  look  in 
her  factory  clothes.     Her  spirits  had  fallen  already. 

"  By  the  way,"  Mr.  EUingsworth  turned,  as  if  a 
sudden  business  item  had  struck  him.  It  was  a  pe- 
culiar expressionless  monotone  he  used  sometimes 
when  on  delicate  subjects  that  seemed  to  have  as  lit- 
tle personal  quality  as  a  printed  page.  "  I  always 
pay  in  advance  ;  be  kind  enough  to  accept  your  first 
month's  wages  and  our  bargain  will  be  closed." 


64  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

The  girl  found  herself  alone,  looking  at  the  crisp, 
fresh-looking  bank  bills  he  had  placed  in  her  hands. 
*'  How  thoughtful  these  rich  people  are.  They  have 
time  for  it,  I  suppose." 

The  tea  hour  passed  long  before  dark  that  day, 
the  mills  letting  out  earlier  on  Saturdays  ;  and  Mr. 
Graves  had  pulled  his  old  hat  down  over  his  eyes  as 
he  always  wore  it,  and  gone  over  to  the  grocery 
store  to  talk  politics  with  his  friends.  They  all 
had  long  accounts  there ;  accounts  the  boldest  of 
them  never  expected  to  catch  up  with  ;  nor  was  at 
all  afraid  of  the  keen-eyed  storekeeper  losing  any- 
thing on  them  either. 

Jane  Graves  was  in  her  mother's  room,  but 
dressed  in  the  best  she  had ;  a  faded  plum-colored 
silk,  a  remnant  of  her  mother's  youth.  Did  it  make 
her  sad  to  see  it?  The  girl  stood  a  moment  before 
the  mirror  and  fastened  a  cardinal  ribbon  in  her  hair, 
for  wouldn't  Curran  be  sure  to  come  to  inquire  after 
her?  It  had  been  a  great  while  since  she  had 
missed  a  whole  day's  work.  How  he  would  admire 
her  dress  ;  he  would  say  he  never  knew  how  pretty 
she  was.  But  this  was  nothing  to  what  she  would 
have  soon.  Then  she  began  to  look  over  her  scant 
wardrobe  ;  her  mother's  feverish  eyes  watching  her 
from  her  pillow.  On  one  chair  lay  the  cheap  calico 
dress  she  had  just  laid  off;  every  spot  and  wrinkle 
reminded  her  of  some  dreary,  hopeless  hour.     But 


A  DAY  OFF.  65 

now  all  would  be  changed.  She  would  see  only 
beautiful  things,  and  graceful,  smooth-voiced  peo- 
ple. Poor  mother,  it  was  too  bad  she  had  to  stay 
here.  Never  again  would  the  daughter  be  a  part  of 
the  jostling,  chattering  swarm  that  poured  out  of 
the  factory  gates.  Oh,  she  never  half  knew  how  she 
hated  it ;  she  hadn't  dared  confess  it  to  herself. 
She  was  sorry  for  the  worn  girl  faces,  old  some  of 
them  at  twelve  3^ears  ;  and  wrinkled  and  wan  at 
sweet  sixteen.  But  probably  there  were  not  many, 
she  complacently  concluded,  that  suffered  as  she  did. 
Custom  must  dull  their  feelings  and  habit  for  most 
of  them  overcome  their  longings  for  free  breath  and 
brightness. 

Her  wardrobe  was  very  simple.  There  hung 
over  the  back  of  a  chair  the  dull  check  of  a  merino, 
chosen  long  ago  to  endure  the  most  service  with  the 
least  show  of  it.  On  the  bureau  before  the  mirror 
was  a  paper  box  holding  a  discarded  ribbon  or  two, 
pink  or  cardinal,  and  two  or  three  pieces  of  cheap 
jewelry  the  girl  was  too  proud  to  wear.  There  was 
in  the  box  besides  a  grey  veil  that  she  had  never 
worn. 

'*  It  won't  take  me  long  to  pack,"  she  said  aloud. 

She  suddenly  took  a  pretty  attitude  of  listening. 
She  had  closed  the  door  into  the  sick  chamber  in  a 
moment  more,  and  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  sitting 
room  when  Curran  came  in. 


66  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  Why,  you  don't  look  very  sick,  Jennie.  I  have 
to  walk  to  Lockout  by  eight  o'clock ;  but  thought 
I  would  look  in  just  a  minute." 

"  I  am  going  to  leave  the  mill."  How  preoccu- 
pied he  seemed  to-night.  ''  I  am  going  to  leave  the 
mill,  Mr.  Curran,"  the  girl  repeated  with  beating 
heart.  He  might  not  like  her  new  plan,  and  at  the 
very  thought  of  his  disapproval,  she  felt  all  her 
bright  hopes  taking  to  themselves  wings  ;  and  the 
old  dreary  picture  of  factory  gates  and  soiled  calico 
dresses  came  back. 

"  Going  away,  little  girl?  "  He  seemed  to  speak 
with  a  slight  effort,  as  if  his  mind  was  not  on  what 
he  said.  "  Well,  I  suppose  you  can't  be  any  worse 
off,  but  we  shall  miss  you." 

And  was  that  all  he  had  to  say  when  he  thought 
she  was  going  forever  out  of  his  life — had  he  no 
reproaches  for  her  ? 

"  I  am  not  going  far,"  she  began,  hurriedly. 
"  There  would  be  no  use  going  far."  He  had  seat- 
ed himself  on  the  other  side  of  the  table  from  her,  and 
^rested  his  face  on  his  hand.  ''  It  is  just  the  same  ev- 
erywhere, wherever  there  are  a  thousand  souls,  ten 
will  grind  the  rest.  I  don't  suppose  the  rich  mean  to 
be  so  unjust,  not  all  of  them,  they  don't  stop  to  no- 
tice that  they  are  getting  all  the  good  things  in  the 
world.  It  never  occurs  to  them  to  wonder  why  the 
great  earth  seems  to  produce  only  for  them." 


A  DAY  OFF.  67 

Jane  Graves  sat  back  In  her  chair,  her  hands 
crossed  in  her  lap.  Why  didn't  he  talk  about  her 
just  a  little?  She  looked  up  at  his  absorbed  face 
wistfully.  She  wished  he  was  not  quite  such  a  great 
man,  or  perhaps  if  she  was  a  greater  woman  she 
would  not  mind   it. 

"  Why,  Jennie,  sometimes  I  get  so  tired  trying 
to  stand  up  against  it  all,  so  sick  of  my  own  heart- 
ache that  I  can  make  nobody  share  with  me."  He 
had  risen  to  his  feet,  and  was  walking  moodily  across 
the  room.  That  very  night  he  must  pour  out  all  the 
precious  energy  of  his  soul  into  dull,  stolid  ears,  that 
seemed  so  slow  to  understand — a  hall  full  of  strange 
faces  would  look  up  coldly  at  him,  and  his  hot 
words  would  be  quenched,  as  they  fell  from  his  lips, 
in  the  unmoved  depths  of  their  hearts.  It  seemed 
so  vain,  all  he  could  do  or  say,  and  he  felt  so  tired 
to-night,  longing,  instead,  to  rest  his  head  on  some 
gentle  breast,  and  be  soothed  with  some  foolish 
words  of  comfort  and  tenderness. 

The  girl  had  risen,  too,  and  stood  resting  the 
back  of  her  hand  on  the  table.  But  her  eyes  dared 
not  lift  to  his.  She  tried  to  speak,  and  her  lips 
trembled  so  that  her  voice  came  strange  and  unfa- 
miliar. 

''I  am  sorry  for  you.  Is  there  no  one,  no 
woman  ?  "  she  half  whispered. 

''  Women   do   not   care  for  such  as  I,"  he  said, 


68  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

smiling  a  little  bitterly.  ""  They  love  light  and  pleas- 
ant things.  I  am  too  serious.  I  should  only 
frighten  them  ;  they  could  not  understand.  And 
then  a  woman  would  ask  more  of  me  than  she 
would  give.     And  I  am  not  my  own." 

Then  he  came  toward  her  with  a  softer  light  in 
his  eyes. 

''  You  are  a  good  little  girl,  Jennie."  He  had 
taken  her  trembling  hands,  which  only  trembled  the 
more.  "  I  shall  miss  you  very  much.  What  is  the 
trouble  with  your  eyes,  Jennie,  can't  you  look  at 
me?     I  am  going  now." 

Then  she  raised  her  eyes,  like  lightning,  to  his 
face. 

''  Oh,  let  me  comfort  you,"  she  cried,  ''  I  would 
die  for  you.  I  will  ask  nothing  back,  but  a  smile 
now  and  then.  Nobody  can  ever  love  you  like 
me." 

His  face  was  troubled,  but  cold  and  impassive  as 
rock.  He  still  held  her  hands,  as  she  sank  in  a 
heart-breaking  flood  of  tears  at  his  feet. 

After  a  moment  he  bent  down  in  pity,  and  gath- 
ered her  trembling  form  in  his  arms.  How  the  sobs 
seemed  to  shake  her.  He  smoothed  back  her  wavy 
hair  from  the  low  forehead,  and  even  kissed  her  wet 
cheeks.     But  all  he  said  was, 

"  Poor  little  girl,  poor  little  Jennie." 

For  an  instant   she  lay  still  as  a  nestling  child. 


A  DAY  OFF,  69 

Then  she  sprang  back  from  him,  and  fled  into  her 
mother's  room,  and  wept  and  moaned  for  shame 
and  heartache,  until  the  calm  of  weariness  came 
over  her,  as  nature's  blessed  gift  to  her  hopeless 
children. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A  Test. 

"TSN'T  your  father  going?"      It  was  the  same 
-L  evening,  and  Philip  Breton  was  assisting  Bertha 
into  his  beach  wagon  for  a  twilight  drive. 

''  Father  has  left  town  for  a  few  days.  Didn't  you 
know?  Suppose  you  let  me  have  the  back  seat. 
The  world  is  large  enough  to  afford  us  a  seat  apiece 
to-night." 

Bertha  adjusted  her  wraps  and  the  horses  stepped 
off  down  the  street  as  gayly  as  if  their  driver  had  not 
been  disappointed.  It  almost  seemed  as  if  Bertha 
took  pleasure  in  giving  him  the  heartache  ;  no  doubt 
it  was  only  her  innocence  of  what  the  feeling  was, 
and  her  aversion  to  being  disturbed. 

There  was  not  very  much  conversation  to-day, 
indeed  there  never  was  unless  Philip  afforded  it. 
Bertha  considered  she  did  her  part  in  looking  well, 
smiling  prettily  at  his  witticisms,  with  now  and  then 
a  remark,  if  she  felt  inclined.  But  to-day  Philip  was 
moody  and  silent,  pretending  he  could  not  make 
himself  understood,  sitting  with  his  back  to  her, 
implying,  of  course,  it  was  all  her  fault.  So  Bertha 
gave  herself   up   to  the   sensuous  delight  of  riding. 


A    TEST.  71 

and  only  spoke  in  mild  exclamations  of  admiration 
of  the  scenery  as  they  left  the  village  behind,  and 
followed  up  the  winding  river. 

Philip  was  beginning  to  feel  the  oppression  of 
silence,  and  to  be  conscience  stricken  at  anything 
so  near  rudeness  to  Bertha.  He  knew,  in  advance, 
just  the  look  of  surprise  she  would  have  for  any  con- 
fession of  fault  on  his  part.  He  must  only  act  as  if 
there  had  been  no  break  in  their  talk  ;  and  it  became 
easy  for  him,  for  the  mere  consciousness  of  her  pres- 
ence warmed  his  heart,  so  that  no  coldness  or  fancied 
grievance  could  live  there.  But  before  he  found 
the  word  he  wanted,  they  had  passed  through  a  wood 
and  were  coming  into  an  open  stretch  of  country, 
and  suddenly  Philip  saw  a  man's  form  swaying 
easily,  while  he  took  great  strides  along  the  footpath. 

"Curran,"  he  exclaimed,  and  stopped  his  horses 
close  beside  him.  The  man  turned,  and  one  might 
have  thought  he  did  not  recognize  the  occupants  of 
the  carriage,  only  there  was  the  least  bit  of  a  flush 
on  his  face,  which  bore  the  lines  of  interrupted  med- 
itation.    Then  he  bowed  slightly  to  Philip. 

"  And  you  don't  recollect  me  I  suppose,"  smiled 
Bertha. 

"■  I  am  not  so  stupid,"  he  said,  letting  his  steel- 
blue  eyes  rest  admiringly  upon  her. 

"  We  are  going  to  Lockout  too.  Aren't  we, 
Bertha?     You  must  get  in  with  us." 


72  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

''  No,  I  won't  crowd  you,  don't  move."  And  he 
turned  a  little  away  from  them  as  if  to  continue  his 
walk. 

"  Certainly  you  must ! "  said  Bertha,  "  see  I  have 
a  whole  seat  to  myself  and  it  is  so  stupid — Please." 

And  Curran  took  the  seat  she  offered  him,  hold- 
ing back  her  wraps  till  he  was  seated,  and  then  re- 
leasing them. 

*'  Do  you  think  I  shall  ever  learn  to  weave  cotton 
cloth  ?  "  asked  Philip,  to  call  his  attention  to  their 
day's  work  together. 

"  I  presume  so,  if  you  really  mean  to.  But  it  is 
lucky  you  haven't  got  your  board  to  pay  mean- 
while." 

But  Curran  did  not  smile,  and  was  very  ill  at 
ease.  He  seemed  to  be  lifted,  body  and  soul,  into 
the  very  life  he  was  accustomed  to  rebuke.  The 
beautiful  horses  of  the  rich  were  harnessed  to-day 
to  his  pleasure  with  their  gold  plate  trimmings. 
What  right  had  he  here?  He  said  nothing  of  it,  but 
felt  intensely  the  falseness  of  his  position  ;  the  deli- 
cate springs  hurt  him,  and  every  sign  of  lavish 
wealth  in  the  dress  of  his  companions.  He  had  tried 
that  very  day  to  give  this  young  heir  to  the  Breton 
Mills  the  impression  that  there  could  be  no  intimacy 
between  such  as  they.  He  wanted  no  interests  with 
the  rich,  his  life  work  must  be  against  them,  he 
desired   no  association   with  a  luxurious   manner  of 


A    TEST.  75 

life  he  ought  to  upbraid,  there  must  not  be  one 
chain  of  gold  to  unite  him  with  the  wealthy  class  in 
whom  he  saw  the  enemies  of  the  people. 

And  yet  he  was  taking  delight  in  this  woman's 
presence,  a  new  delight,  such  as  the  women  of  the 
poor  had  never  given  him.  And  was  not  she  the 
very  essence  of  luxury  and  refinement.  He  hated 
himself  for  it,  but  for  all  he  tried  to  look  elsewhere 
he  kept  seeing  the  sparkle  of  the  diamonds  on  the 
whitest  hand  he  had  ever  seen.  He  enjoyed  the 
lilies  of  the  valley  set  in  mosaic  at  her  throat,  which 
showed  its  creamy  white  against  the  delicate  ruffles, 
and  the  comb  with  its  band  oi  Roman  gold  almost 
the  shade  of  the  rippling  hair  it  restrained.  But  were 
not  these  the  very  extravagances  the  poor  had  to 
struggle  to  earn  for  her?  He  ought  to  be  fulminat- 
ing withering  sentences  for  such  as  she. 

''  I  will  get  out  at  the  rocks  and  walk  the  rest  of 
the  way,"  said  Curran  at  last,  as  they  could  catch  a 
glimpse  of  Lockout  in  the  distance.  ''  The  workmen 
I  want  to  talk  to  would  hardly  understand  my  com- 
ing with  a  carriage  and  pair." 

The  *'  rocks"  came  but  a  mile  from  Lockout  and 
the  horses  had  trotted  so  well  that  the  spot  was 
reached  in  a  few  moments  more.  The  road  at  this 
point  had  been  cut  through  a  side-hill  of  sandstone, 
by  dint  of  great  blasting,  and  the  jagged  edges  jutted 
out  angrily  at  the  passers  by. 


74  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  There  must  be  a  wonderful  landscape  on  the 
other  side  of  the  rocks,"  said  Bertha,  as  Philip 
stopped  his  horses  for  Curran  to  alight. 

"  Have  you  plenty  of  time?  "  said  Bertha  before 
the  workman  could  express  his  thanks. 

"  An  hour  to  spare." 

She  looked  wistfully  at  the  envious  rocks  that 
shut  them  in,  and  then  at  Curran's  grave  face. 

"  I  would  so  like  to  see  that  view  from  the  top 
of  the  rocks  if  I  had  some  one  to  help  me." 

Curran's  face  suddenly  flushed  with  pleasure,  "  I 
should  like  to  help  you." 

In  a  minute  more  Bertha  was  climbing  the  rocks 
with  her  strange  escort,  and  Philip  sat  holding  his 
horses  quite  a  little  distance  back. 

''  You  didn't  talk  very  much  during  our  drive," 
said  Bertha  as  she  stood  with  her  companion  look- 
ing off  down  the  valley.  "  Is  it  so  wicked  of  us  to 
be  rich?  " 

He  shot  a  sudden  deprecating  look  at  her.  "Don't 
force  me  so  far.     I  can  not  say  it  now." 

Bertha  smiled.  "  Then  leave  me  out  of  it,  say 
Philip  instead." 

"  He  is  enjoying  the  fruits  of  terrible  injustice." 

"  But  would  his  father  have  been  rich  unless  he 
had  deserved  it  ?  "  asked  Bertha. 

"  Is  it  a  just  reward  of  merit,  then,  that  a  thou- 
sand human  creatures  should   well  nigh  starve,  and 


A    TEST.  75 

he  be  rich?     If  he  has  deserved  to  be  rich,  you  must 
say  they  have  merited  starvation." 

The  girl  liked  to  hear  his  earnest,  thrilling  tones, 
and  watch  his  eyes  flash  and  his  nostrils  dilate  with 
such  rare  passion. 

"  Is  it  just,"  he  went  on,  "  that  no  matter  how 
unweariedly  a  laborer  works,  his  idle  neighbor,  as 
surely  as  the  sun  sets,  should  lay  intolerable  tribute 
on  his  profits  ;  so  that  he  must  stay  forever  poor  ? 
Is  a  day's  work  worth  nothing,  then  why  does  it 
bring  in  some  capitalist  thousands  of  dollars  for  a 
stroke  of  his  pen  ?  " 

Bertha  understood  but  little  of  what  he  was  say- 
ing, but  she  could  look  intently  at  him  with  wide 
open  blue  eyes  which  had  a  pretty  trick  of  changing 
expression  as  if  in  closest  sympathy  with  a  speaker. 
Curran  felt  no  one  had  half  listened  to  him  before, 
that  at  last  every  word  told,  and  he  was  strangely 
excited  by  the  sweet  mystery  of  their  common  in- 
spiration. 

"  Great  wealth  is  made  up  of  ten  thousand  trick- 
ling streams,  drained  from  the  paltry  earnings  of  as 
many  defrauded  workmen.  Mere  cunning  scheming 
ought  not  enable  a  man  to  turn  aside  the  great  river 
of  plenty  which  flows  for  all  men.  Why  these  shrewd 
business  men,  whom  so  many  praise,  have  so  inge- 
niously placed  their  chains  on  the  laborer,  that  the 
harder  he  struggles  to  escape  from  poverty,  he  only 


7^  THE  BRETON  Mil LS. 

turns  the  faster  the  wheel  that  grinds  out  fortunes 
for  his  masters,  and  draws  him  in  at  last  to  be 
crushed." 

He  hesitated  for  her  to  ask  him  some  questions, 
but  perhaps  it  was  already  as  plain  to  her  as  to  him. 
At  any  rate,  she  only  looked  off  to  the  west  where 
the  glow  of  sunset  was  fast  fading,  and  then  back 
into  his  face  regretfully. 

"  I  suppose  we  ought  to  go  down,"  she  said. 

"  Why,  yes,  I  had  forgotten  whether  it  was  night 
or  day." 

He  took  her  hand  gently  as  if  he  touched  a  holy 
thing,  and  his  face  softened  like  a  child's.  He  would 
not  have  let  her  fall  for  the  world.  She  had  taught 
him,  how  he  did  not  stop  to  think,  that  there  was 
a  rare  and  exquisite  strain  of  joy  in  life.  She  had 
spiritualized  womanhood  to  him  ;  he  suddenly  saw 
in  it  an  essence  so  pure  and  fine  it  might  redeem  the 
world.  An  hour  ago,  he  had  been  so  wretched,  and 
now  a  vague,  sweet  hope  he  cared  not  to  define  was 
born  in  him.  As  he  stood  upon  the  road-bed,  and 
reached  up  his  hands  to  help  Bertha  down,  their  eyes 
met  for  a  moment,  and  then  she  trusted  herself  to 
him  in  such  gentle  surrender  that  a  mist  floated 
before  his  sight.  She  almost  fell,  and  he  must  needs 
gather  her  perfect  form  in  his  arms  to  save  her. 

Philip  had  been  idly  snapping  his  whip,  and 
looking  up  the  road.     He  thought  he  saw  in  the  dis- 


A    TEST.  77 

tance  a  number  of  men  with  guns  hurrying  in  his 
direction,  and  before  them — yes,  it  must  be  a  dog,  an 
odd  hour  of  the  day  for  hunting.  He  might  as  well 
have  his  horses  turned  about;  he  could  see  Curran 
and  Bertha  clambering  down  from  the  rocks.  So  it 
happened  that  at  the  moment  Bertha  came  so  near 
falling,  in  fact  did  fall,  into  Curran's  arms,  Philip  was 
sitting  with  his  back  toward  them,  faced  towards 
home. 

But  by  this  time  the  hunters  with  guns  were 
nearer,  the  blacksmith  had  rushed  out  of  his  shop  to 
look  at  the  dog  who  bounded  along  with  his  mouth 
to  the  ground  dropping  foam  as  he  ran. 

The  dog  was  mad.  Bertha  saw  the  great  white 
creature,  and  grew  pale  as  death,  and  pressed  back 
against  the  rocky  wall  in  despair.  Curran  saw  him 
too,  and  had  not  even  to  make  up  his  mind  to  die 
to  save  this  woman.  It  was  a  matter  of  course.  He 
stepped  out  directly  in  front  of  her  without  one 
word,  and  bending  forward  waited.  The  mad  dog 
might  pass  them  by.  But  no,  in  an  instant  more 
the  beast  was  upon  him,  and  like  lightning  Curran 
had  reached  out  his  hands  of  iron,  and  caught  his 
shaggy  throat  as  in  a  vise. 

The  creature  rose  upon  its  hind  legs,  and  snap- 
ped ravenously  at  his  captor,  great  drops  of  foam 
specked  with  blood,  dropping  from  his  jaws.  With 
one  rapid    glance   Curran  saw  the  men   with  guns, 


7o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

running  at  full  speed,  and  almost  at  hand.  If  he 
could  hold  him  but  one  moment  more,  he  might  yet 
be  saved,  if  those  glistening  teeth,  distilling  poison 
and  madness,  would  spare  his  flesh  one  moment 
more.  His  arms  and  wrists  were  corded  like  a 
giant's  ;  his  head  thrown  back  to  escape  the  venom- 
ous fangs,  while  he  listened  with  fast  sickening 
heart,  to  the  sound  of  approaching  feet.  He  heard, 
too,  the  quick  breathing  of  the  woman  behind  him  ; 
thank  God,  he  could  save  her  from  such  a  fate,  and 
she  might  think  kindly  of  him  sometimes,  even  if  he 
must  die  like  a  dog,  since  it  was  for  her. 

But  now  his  arms  trembled  with  the  terrible  strain 
upon  them,  and  the  dog  struggled  more  fiercely,  so 
that  the  man  felt  his  hot,  fetid  breath  on  his  cheek, 
and  in  an  instant  more  the  deadly  jaws  seemed 
closing  over  his  arm.  Suddenly  there  came  a  loud 
report  and  a  cloud  of  smoke,  and  the  mangled  crea- 
ture fell  upon  the  ground  in  his  death  agony.  The 
madness  had  gone  out  of  his  big  brown  eyes,  which 
looked  up  pitifully  at  the  man  he  would  have  slain. 

'' They  were  just  in  time  with  their  guns,"  ex- 
claimed Philip,  rushing  up,  and  wringing  his  hand. 

But  the  man  made  no  response,  nor  even  looked 
around  for  one  sign  of  gratitude  from  the  woman  he 
had  risked  his  life  for.  He  had  no  answers  or  smiles 
for  the  admiring  crowd  that,  had  seemed  to  gather  so 
quickly  when  the  danger  was  over,  but  his  face  grew 


A    TEST.  79 

quite  pale  as  he  walked  up  the  road.  At  the  black- 
smith's shop  a  thought  seemed  to  strike  him  ;  he 
hesitated  a  moment  and  then  went  in. 

When  the  crowd  came  up  and  followed  him  in, 
they  found  him  before  the  glowing  forge.  His 
sleeve  was  rolled  up,  revealing  an  arm  almost  like  the 
smith's,  but  how  closely  he  was  studying  it.  Just 
below  the  elbow  were  the  marks  of  a  dog's  fangs, 
out  of  which  slowly  oozed  two  great  drops  of  blood. 
No  one  dared  to  speak,  all  looked  on  him  as  a  man 
devoted,  and  half  expected  to  see  already  the  signs 
of  madness  in  his  calm,  pale  face.  The  men  with  the 
guns  had  come  in  with  the  rest,  and  stood  under  the 
rows  of  horse-shoes  that  lined  the  blackened  walls, 
with  horrified  eyes  riveted  on  the  print  of  the  poi- 
soned fangs.  The  blacksmith  stood  by  his  anvil,  ham- 
mer in  hand,  as  if  frozen,  and  even  Philip  Breton  was 
stunned  and  baffled  at  the  sudden  revelation  of  the 
fate  stamped  on  this  man  who  had  given  his  life  for 
Bertha's.  Philip  had  been  devising  how  rare  a  gift  of 
undying  friendship  he  could  give  him  in  token  of  his 
gratitude,  and  now  a  terrible  death  must  be  his  only 
reward. 

But  the  face  of  the  victim  was  as  composed  as  if 
death  had  already  claimed  him.  He  did  not  seem  to 
see  one  of  the  silent  forms  that  thronged  the  little 
shop.  Then  he  looked  carefully  at  the  wound  in  his 
arm,  and  pressed  out  the   drops  of  poisoned   blood. 


80  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

In  another  instant  he  had  reached  out  his  right 
hand  toward  the  forge,  and  grasped  the  end  of  a  bar 
of  iron  that  shone  at  white  heat  where  it  touched 
the  coals.  He  drew  it  out  before  one  could  catch 
his  breath,  and  held  it  close  against  the  death  mark 
in  his  quivering  flesh.  A  sickening  hiss  brought  a 
cry  of  sympathy  from  the  astonished  crowd,  but  his 
lips  never  moved  till  the  cure  was  completed.  He 
threw  back  the  iron,  and  grinding  his  teeth  in  his 
agony,  turned  on  his  heel  and  went  out. 

At  the  door  was  a  face  paler  than  his.  Bertha 
Ellingsworth  had  seen  it  all.  As  he  looked  at  her 
white  face  and  golden  brows  and  lashes,  Curran 
thought  of  wreaths  of  strands  of  gold  on  the  driven 
snow.  But  her  eyes  had  a  new  fathomless  expres- 
sion in  them,  and  her  lips  were  parted  as  if  to  speak, 
if  there  were  only  words  sweet  and  gentle  enough. 
His  face  flushed  with  a  delicious  gladness  deeper 
than  his  pain,  as  she  made  him  hold  out  his  arm  for 
her,  and  touched  it  with  mysterious  tenderness,  and 
bound  her  handkerchief  about  his  charred  and  ach- 
ing wound. 

''  And  you  can't  disappoint  your  audience  ?  How 
brave  you  are.  But  you  will  come  to  me  to- 
morrow ?" 

"If  you  wish  it."  The  crowd  had  gathered  out- 
side the  door,  and  stood  a  little  way  off,  curiously 
watching  them. 


A    TEST.  8 1 

*'  I  wish  I  could  repay  you,"  she  said,  looking 
wistfully  up  at  him. 

But  Curran's  face  flushed  crimson,  and  he  drew 
back  from  her  as  if  he  had  been  stung. 

As  she  looked  at  him,  a  flush  slowly  came  into 
her  face,  too.  "  Would  you  like  to  kiss  me,  just 
once  : 

The  man  turned  and  drew  her  to  his  heart  before 
them  all,  and  her  eyes  fell  till  their  long  golden 
lashes  touched  her  cheek,  as  he  stooped  and  kissed 
her  pouted  red  lips. 


•    CHAPTER   VIII. 

His  Mistake. 

IT  was  quite  dark  when  the  carnage  turned  the 
last  bend  in  the  winding  road  homeward  and 
the  hghts  of  Bretonville  came  into  view.  The  Hghts 
in  the  windows  of  the  poor  danced  out  to  meet  the 
tired  horses  as  gayly  as  any.  There  might  have  been 
a  sobbing  woman  behind  the  cheeriest  of  them  all  ; 
nature  shows  no  sympathy  for  human  suffering.  If 
her  poor  children  have  no  rest  and  joys  their  hearts 
must  break  ;  that  is  one  of  nature's  laws.  Neither 
can  light  lose  its  gladness  and  cheer  because  glad- 
ness and  cheer  are  so  absurdly  out  of  place  in  poverty- 
stricken  homes.  As  if  the  circles  that  were  gathered 
within  most  of  those  windows  deserved  the  name  of 
home,  with  never  a  smile  of  contentment  to  light  up 
a  face,  or  a  word  of  hope  to  make  music  for  a  dulled 
ear.  Ah,  that  human  nature  is  so  terribly  logical  and 
cannot  let  a  creature  be  happy  unless  there  is  some- 
thing light  or  pleasant  in  its  life  !  Home  to  such  as 
they  is  the  place  where  the  cravings  of  hunger  are 
quieted  and  the  tired  cords  and  muscles  are  relaxed 
for  a  new  strain;    where   they   can   complain,  and 


HIS  MISTAKE.  83 

where  they  can  sleep  and  die.  But  save  the  word 
to  them  at  least,  for  a  time  when  it  shall  be  a  reality. 

Suddenly  the  sound  of  fire  bells  fell  upon  Philip's 
ear  and  startled  him  out  of  his  melancholy  revery. 
The  same  instant  he  saw  a  little  cloud  of  smoke 
above  the  brick  mills,  and  then  a  bright  tongue 
of  flame  leap  up  toward  it.  The  bells  pealed  out  in 
short  nervous  strokes  as  if  in  tremulous  fear,  and 
at  their  impulse  the  young  man's  blood  coursed 
through  his  veins  in  uncontrollable  excitement.  It 
was  but  two  minutes  more  when  Philip  drew  up 
short  at  the  mill-yard  gates,  to  escape  the  engine 
which  swept  by  with  a  rush,  dragged  by  a  crowd 
of  shouting  men.  The  people  hatless,  coatless,  and 
some  even  bare-footed  in  their  haste,  poured  out 
of  every  street  and  alley-way,  and  into  the  wide  open 
gates,  everybody  talking  and  nobody  listening. 

But  Bertha  had  hardly  spoken  during  the  drive 
home,  and  now  seemed  very  little  interested  in  the 
disturbance. 

"  The  mills  are  on  fire,"  cried  Philip,  dropping 
his  reins  and  turning  his  excited  face  toward  her. 

"■  So  I  see,"  she  said  coolly, ''  and  hadn't  you  bet- 
ter drive  on  ?  " 

*'  Why,  I  ought  to  be  here."  He  looked  nerv- 
ously at  the  hurrying  crowd  and  back  into  Bertha's 
cold  beautiful  face.  "  Couldn't  you  wait  in  one 
of  these  tenements  ?  these  are  all  nice  people  ?  " 


84  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

But  she  made  no  motion  and  only  looked  at 
his  flushed  face  in  annoyed  surprise.  ''  What  are 
you  thinking  of?     I  stop  with  these  people  ?  " 

"  Or  drive  on  home  without  me.  The  horses  are 
gentle  and  you  are  such  a  good  driver,  you  know." 

Philip  was  growing  terribly  restless ;  the  people 
came  faster  and  faster  ;  and  his  eager  eyes  followed 
each  man  and  woman  into  the  gates  with  increasing 
anxiety.  Even  Bertha  noticed  the  curious  looks  the 
passers-by  gave  to  the  carriage  that  blocked  the  way. 

''  I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  she  said  in  measured 
tones  that  reminded  Philip,  even  at  such  a  moment 
as  that,  of  her  father's.  ''  You  had  better  drive 
along  ;  there,  not  so  fast.  Why  will  you  run  the 
horses  ?     You  almost  frighten  me." 

It  took  but  a  few  moments  to  reach  Bertha's 
home,  but  it  seemed  a  long  time  to  Philip,  who  kept 
looking  back  over  his  shoulder  at  the  flames  which 
to  his  excited  fancy  seemed  rising  higher  at  every 
glance.  He  stopped  the  horses  at  Bertha's  door 
at  last,  and  leaping  to  the  ground,  assisted  her  to 
alight.  The  horses  were  panting,  but  there  was  no 
time  even  to  give  them  breath,  and  in  an  instant 
more  Philip  was  back  in  his  seat.  But  Bertha  stood 
as  if  she  had  something  to  say,  and  he  waited  before 
he  drew  up  the  reins. 

''  You  will  make  a  mistake  in  leaving  me  to  my- 
self to-night." 


HIS  MISTAKE.  85 

He  thought  there  was  a  mysterious  touch  of  self- 
distrust  in  her  voice  that  was  soft  and  almost  tender 
as  she  looked  fixedly  at  him.  Ah  !  he  had  never  seen 
her  so  lovely ;  as  if  the  warm  passionate  woman  soul 
had  been  born  in  her;  and  he  longed  in  his  rapture 
to  fall  at  her  feet  and  kiss  them.  He  was  forgetting 
the  mill  in  flames  as  he  drank  in  the  new  sweet  hope 
she  seemed  to  give  him.  He  could  not  leave  her 
thus  with  that  wonderful  light  in  her  eyes.  No 
doubt  the  fire  was  subdued,  and  how  little  he  could 
do  at  best  ;  there  were  so  many  stronger  than  he. 

But  suddenly  a  tongue  of  flame  leaped  up  into 
the  black  sky  like  lightning. 

"  I  would  so  love  to  stay,  darling,  but  the  mills  are 
on  fire — my  father's  mills.  I  might  save  them. 
Don't  you  understand — it  would  be  infamous  in 
me  to — " 

"  I  only  said  you  make  a  mistake." 

Till  he  dies  Philip  Breton  never  will  forget  that 
scene ;  the  darting  flames  beckoning  him  away,  and 
this  beautiful  woman,  for  whose  first  fond  caress  he 
would  have  given  everything  but  his  manhood  and 
honor,  inviting  him  to  stay.  And  in  her  changed 
face  he  thought  he  saw  such  sweet  promise  of  love  if 
he  stayed  and  such  sure  presage  of  evil  if  he  went. 

"  Good  night,"  he  said  with  faltering  voice  as  he 
drew  up  the  reins. 

''  Good  night,"  she  answered  slowly  as  she  turned 


86  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

to  go  in,  and  he  thought  he  heard  her  other  sentence 
over  again,  ''  You  make  a  mistake." 

It  was  number  2  mill  on  fire,  but  all  that  inge- 
nuity and  strength  could  do  seemed  doincr  as  well 
without  Philip.  The  men  were  as  busy  as  bees. 
Fifty  manned  the  brakes  of  the  hand  engine  and 
pumped  as  vigorously  as  if  there  were  no  such  thing 
as  lame  backs  and  aching  muscles,  while  on  top  of 
the  engine  beside  the  bell,  which  rang  with  every 
stroke  of  the  brakes,  stood  their  foreman  keeping  time 
with  his  arms  and  whole  body  and  encouraging  them 
with  his  hoarse,  excited  voice.  Then  there  were 
three  hydrants  in  full  operation  and  a  crowd  of  men 
to  keep  the  hose  in  condition,  and  four  more  in  rub- 
ber suits  to  hold  the  nozzles  and  direct  the  streams  of 
fast  flowing  water  where  it  would  quickest  subdue  the 
fierce  flames.  There  seemed  nothing  for  Philip  to  do. 
He  was  worth  no  more  than  the  crowd  of  chatterinsf 
women,  who  stood  as  near  the  fire  as  their  rough- 
voiced  men  would  let  them.  How  odd  their  thin 
white  faces  looked  half  hid  by  the  shawls  tied  about 
their  heads.  It  was  a  great  event  in  their  dull, 
monotonous  lives ;  the  very  foundations  of  their 
world  seemed  shaken,  and  they  could  not  talk  fast 
enough  to  express  their  crude  thoughts  at  the  break- 
ing up  of  old  associations. 

"  Carry  the  hose  up  to  the  next  story,"  shouted 
the  foreman. 


HIS  MISTAKE.  8/ 

''The  ladder  is  not  long  enough,"  answered  one 
of  the  men  in  rubber  suits. 

"Can't  you  climb?  Who  can  then?" 

This  was  Philip's  opportunity,  and  he  hurried  up 
the  ladder  two  rounds  at  a  time.  Then  he  swung 
himself  off  on  the  lightning  rod.  Its  sharp  edges  cut 
his  tender  hands,  but  in  Ijis  eagerness  he  did  not 
notice  it.  In  a  moment  more  he  had  pulled  himself 
up  on  the  window-sill  and  burst  in  the  sash.  Then 
he  reached  down  for  the  hose  and  a  cheer  went 
up  for  the  rich  man's  son  who  was  not  afraid  of 
work. 

He  heard  his  father's  voice  below  thanking  the 
men  for  their  devotion,  as  the  sullen  flames  seemed 
to  give  way  before  their  tireless  efforts.  But  it  was 
no  time  now  for  idle  felicitations,  the  fire  seemed 
under  control,  but  if  the  mastery  were  relaxed,  it 
would  leap  high  again  in  its  fury,  and  the  other  mills 
must  go  too,  for  all  they  stood  so  cold  and  proud. 
The  smoke  grew  thinner  in  the  window  where  Philip 
stood,  so  he  could  look  down  on  the  sweaty  faces 
and  bending  forms  of  the  men  at  the  brakes.  Every 
thing  depended  on  them,  and  how  strong  they  sent 
the  water  through  the  hose  he  held,  and  forced  back 
the  fire  inch  by  inch  from  its  prey.  If  they  could 
only  keep  it  up  a  few^  moments  more,  the  other  mills 
would  be  out  of  danger.  Each  stroke  of  the  brakes 
made   the  hose  throb  against  his  side  almost  like  a 


88  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

giant's  pulse.  God  grant  them  strength  a  few  mo- 
ments more. 

Suddenly  he  heard  a  loud  voice  raised  above  the 
murmur  of  the  crowd. 

"■  Wise  boys  ye  be,  to  clench  the  nails  in  yer  own 
coffins.  Aint  this  mill  yer  jail  and  its  bosses  your 
jailers?  Is  there  a  fool  ®f  ye  all,  but  knows  old  Bre- 
ton who  grins  so  nice  to-night  on  ye,  but  knows  him 
for  a  tyrant,  who  grinds  us  to  powder  ?  " 

Philip  saw  a  short,  burly  man  whose  hair  was 
cropped  close  to  his  round  head,  shouting  and  ges- 
ticulating wildly,  as  he  made  his  way  up  to  the 
engine  and  then  leaped  upon  it.  The  brakes  stop 
moving  and  the  fire  sends  up  new  tongues  and  leaps 
along  the  smoking  beams  and  rafters  in  fresh  fury, 
while  the  men  listen  breathlessly  to  this  stranger. 
The  women  too  gather  nearer,  and  look  in  curiosity 
at  their  husbands  and  brothers  who  drink  in  so 
eagerly  his  poisoned  words. 

"  I  s'poseye  thought  ye  didn't  work  long  enough 
for  yer  ninety  cents  a  day.  But  ye  hev.  Aye  boys, 
that  big  heap  o'  brick  stands  for  that  old  man's  mean- 
ness ;  it's  the  machine  to  crush  ye.  It  s  the  way  he 
bleeds  ye.  But  how  sweet  he  is  to-night.  Ye  never 
noticed  it  before,  did  ye?  He's  seed  you  a  starvin'  on 
the  wages  he  paid,  and  yer  purty  darters  gone  to 
the  bad  for  the  want  of  a  few  things  all  gals  kinder 
like.     Some  on  ye,  too,  has  got  old  and  cripples  in 


HIS  MISTAKE,  89 

his  service.  He  aint  ever  guv  in  a  mite,  has  he? 
Now  it's  your  turn." 

And  the  man  shouted  loud  above  the  hissing, 
crackling  flames  that  leaped  out  of  a  dozen  windows 
in  wild  glee.  ''Let  his  mills  burn  fur  a  warnin'  to 
such  as  he  who  make  so  much  sorror  and  misery  in 
this  ere  purty  world,  that  if  Satan  tortured  their  cruel 
souls  forevermore,  it  wouldn't  be  a  feather  in  the 
balance.  Let  him  know  the  despair  of  a  poor  man 
for  once." 

It  was  almost  madness  that  glittered  in  the  fel- 
low's darting  eyes,  and  his  voice  grew  hoarse  and 
terrible  as  he  pointed  his  thick  fingers  at  the  mill 
half  hid  in  smoke,  lit  up  in  spots  with  forks  of  flame, 

"  Let  every  plank  of  it  go.  It's  only  served  to 
make  him  richer  each  month,  and  ye  poorer.  Such  a 
machine  as  that  don't  desarve  to  stand.  Let  his 
riches  he's  used  so  poor  turn  to  ashes  this  night. 
Tears  and  prayin'  couldn't  git  equal  rights  for  us  ;  the 
fire  will  do  it,  though." 

Ezekiel  Breton  elbowed  his  way  into  their  midst. 

He  had  lost  his  hat,  and  stood  pale  in  his  agony 
in  the  presence  of  the  men  who  thought  he  had 
wronged  them.  He  was  conscious  of  no  guilt ;  he 
had  only  made  his  money  as  others  made  theirs ; 
fairer  indeed  than  mere  money-lenders,  who  added 
nothing  to  the  world's  productions.  He  knew,  of 
course,  the  poor  suffered,  but  a   man   can't   be   too 


90  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

squeamish,  and  the   same  road   was   open-  to   them 
that  he  had   taken.     And  as  for  wages,  who   could* 
blame  a  man  for  getting  help  as  cheaply  as  he  can  ? 
That  is  business. 

Mr.  Breton  knew  but  one  argument  for  them. 

''  If  you  want  pay,"  he  shouted,  "  here  is  money, 
a  dollar  an  hour  to  each  man." 

But  not  a  face  relaxed,, he  looked  fearfully  from 
one  to  another,  and  then  up  at  the  grinning  face  of 
the  stranger,  ''  only  save  my  mill."  The  old  man 
put  up  his  hand  to  his  white  hair  in  a  piteous  gesture 
as  he  glanced  at  the  sheets  of  flame  and  lurid  smoke 
that  shut  off  the  sky  above  his  devoted  mill. 

^'  See  the  fire  grows  every  second,  we  are  lost  un- 
less you  go  to  work  ;  I  will  pay  ten  dollars  an  hour." 

The  brakes  began  to  move  slowly  up  and  down. 
Philip  felt  the  water  throb  through  the  hose  as  it 
touched  his  side,  but  it  was  only  one  fitful  spurt,  for 
the  stranger,  who  seemed  to  hold  the  mills  at  his 
mercy,  had  found  his  voice  again. 

''  Keep  yer  money,  old  man,  you  will  need  every 
penny  of  it,  for  you've  cheated  yer  last  out  of  yer 
help  in  them  mills.     Yer  mill  hez  got  to  go." 

Philip  saw  his  father  turn  toward  his  mills,  the 
pride  of  his  life,  and  look  as  fondly  at  their  grim 
walls  as  a  man  on  the  woman  he  loves,  and  the  tears 
of  futile  agony  wet  his  cheeks.  That  moment  the 
young  man  aged  ten  years. 


HIS  MISTAKE.  9 1 

The  crowd  fell  back  again,  and  another  speaker 
mounted  the  strange  rostrum.  He  looked  young 
for  such  a  crisis,  but  there  was  a  new  suggestion  of 
power  in  his  lips  and  the  sullen  crowd  wondered 
what  he  thought  he  could  say  to  persuade  them. 

^'  I  suppose,"  began  Philip  slowly,  as  if  every 
minute  might  not  be  worth  a  fortune,  '*  I  presume," 
and  his  voice  sounded  dry  and  hard,  ''  you  will  want 
your  wages  as  usual,  next  pay-day.  Is  there  any  one 
of  you  foolish  enough  to  imagine  you  will  get  them 
if  the  mills  go  ?" 

Then  the  young  man  glanced  at  the  burly  stran- 
ger, who,  clearly  enough,  was  taken  aback  by  this 
new  style  of  appeal  to  a  crowd. 

''  Possibly  this  broad-shouldered  friend  of  yours 
is  going  to  find  a  living  for  you.  You  have  got 
to  find  it  somewhere,  and  you  won't  have  particu- 
larly good  characters  to  recommend  you  to  new 
tyrants. 

^'  Mind,  men,  I  don't  say  it  is  quite  fair,  but  mill- 
owners  manage  their  business  about  the  same  way. 
It  is  all  very  well  to  complain,  but  the  first  neces- 
sity is  a  place  to  work  ;  if  there  isn't  that,  you  surely 
can't  have  any  rights.  I  may  as  well  tell  you,  the 
mills  are  heavily  insured,  and  you  can't  quite  have 
the  rare  satisfaction  of  seeing  that  old  man  ruined. 
But  I  doubt  if  he  will  care  to  put  any  more  mills 
under  such  extra  risks.      Some  of  your  women  and 


92  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

ignorant  people,  who  don't  see  the  fun  of  starving, 
may  think  you  had  done  a  poor  night's  work." 

The  stranger  have  disappeared,  and  the  faces  of 
the  men,  clustered  about  their  engine,  had  lost  their 
sullen  cast.  The  young  man's  black  eyes  glistened 
in  the  new  ecstasy  of  an  orator's  triumph. 

"  One  thing  I  will  promise.  I  will  do  what  I  can 
in  your  behalf.  I  know  the  lines  of  most  of  you 
have  fallen  into  hard  places,  and  I  promise  if  I  can 
see  any  way  to  lighten  the  burden  of  life  on  your 
shoulders,  I  will  help  you." 

The  men  returned  to  their  work  with  a  murmur 
of  approval.     Was  it  too  late? 

The  brakes  started  up  again.  The  men  ran  up 
the  ladders  again,  with  the  hose  in  their  hands,  in 
the  renewed  battle  with  the  fire.  Philip  had  moved 
the  crowd.  He  had  chosen  instinctively,  the  only 
method  for  the  crisis,  while  the  flames  crackled  and 
flashed  in  high  carnival.  But  was  it  not  too  late  ? 
The  men  were  working  with  new  energy  ;  new  hopes 
were  in  their  hearts.  The  mill-owner's  son  had 
promised  to  help  them  ;  he  sympathized  with  their 
cheerless  poverty,  and  who  could  do  more  than  he  ? 

If  the  whole  line  of  mills  went,  it  would  be  upon 
their  consciences,  and  the  thought  put  fresh  strength 
into  their  weary  arms,  and  more  fearless  courage  into 
their  hearts.  But  precious  time  had  been  lost,  and 
the  wind  had  changed,  so  that  now  the  red,  greedy 


HIS  MISTAKE.  93 

tongues  of  flame  lapped  the  frowning  brick  walls  of 
the  next  mill,  and  lavished  their  hot,  wanton  kisses 
as  if  it  were  love  and  not  hate  whose  fury  would 
consume  them. 

When  the  moon  was  setting  in  the  west,  that 
night,  Mr.  Breton  found  his  son  all  grimy  with 
smoke,  with  clothes  torn,  and  drenched  in  water,  out 
of  all  semblance  to  the  gentleman  of  elegant  leisure. 
He  stood  by  the  smouldering  ruins  of  number  2. 
mill. 

"  Aren't  you  coming  home  to-night,  Philip,  my 
dear  boy?  How  proud  Bertha  would  have  been  if 
she  could  have  seen  her  hero  to-nio-ht." 

Bertha  !  What  a  strange  influence  her  words  and 
manner  at  parting  had  left  upon  him  ;  as  if,  someway, 
in  leaving  her  just  when  he  did,  he  had  lost  her  for- 
ever. God  forbid  !  He  could  not  shake  it  off;  it 
was  with  him  yet  as  he  waited  almost  alone  in  the 
great  mill-yard  ;  all  the  excitement  and  responsibil- 
ities of  the  night  had  not  dispelled  it.  He  looked 
down  moodily  into  the  smoking  mass  of  crumbled 
walls  and  roof  and  blackened  timbers,  and  watched 
for  the  little  forks  of  flame  that  started  up  boldly, 
now  and  then,  as  if  it  were  not  yet  too  late  for  a  new 
battle,  and  then  seemed  abashed  at  finding  them- 
selves alone  in  the  dark,  and  sank  back. 

"  You  have  saved  the  mills,"  said  his  father, 
wringing  his  bruised  hand  till  he  hurt  him.     "  God 


94  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

bless  you,  my  son.  I  didn't  guess  how  much  there 
was  in  you." 

Philip  looked  up  at  the  scorched  walls  off  on 
the  right,  and  the  long  pile  of  massive  structures 
away  to  the  left,  unshaken  by  the  whirlwind  of  fire. 
In  a  few  hours  more  they  would  be  alive  with 
rushing  belts  and  wheels ;  and  with  the  feet  of  the 
men  and  women,  telling  how  strange  there  was  a 
place  left  for  work  to-day.  Yes,  he  had  saved  them 
'' But  at  what  price?  "  He  spoke  half  to  himself.  If 
he  only  knew  what  Bertha  had  meant. 

"  What  price  ?  Oh,  your  promise  to  do  what 
you  could  for  the  men  and  all  that.  It  was  guard- 
edly put,  my  boy."  And  his  father  laughed  appre- 
ciatively. "  Inexorable  parent  must  be  considered, 
though,  ha,  ha.  You  will  catch  your  death  of  cold. 
Well,  if  you  will  stay,  good-night." 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Weak  Man. 


T  T  was  at  dusk  a  few  days  after  Jane  Graves  had 
i  come  to  the  EUingsworths,  that  she  stood  at  the 
dining-room  window. 

It  was  almost  in  sight  of  her  old  dreary  home, 
and  yet  another  world  ;  how  strange  that  the  two 
should  be  so  near  and  not  change  or  shadow  each 
other      But  Jane  Graves  was  not  the  girl  to  trouble 
herseif  over  hard  questions.     She  breathed  her  new 
atmosphere  in  unmixed  delight,  while  latent  senses 
awoke  each  day  only  to  be  gratified      What  d.f^er- 
ence  if  she  did  not  own  the  pier  glass  mirror  that 
reflected  back  her  neatly  clad  young  figure  ;  it  cou  d 
not  tell  her  she  was  ill  looking.     The  exquisitely 
carved  chairs,  upholstered  in  the  rarest  designs,  mto 
which  she  could  sink  in  delicious  abandon,  were  not 
any  softer  for  her  master  than  for  her. 

At  this  moment  she  stood   in  a  very  charming 

attitude  leaning  lightly  against  the  window  casing, 

her  prettily  rounded   arm   raised  to  play  with  the 

•curtain  tassel.     Her  master  rather  liked  to  linger  in 

the  dinin<T-room  and  read  his  evening  paper.     Occa- 


9^  THE  BRETON-  MILLS. 

sionally  he  would  glance  at  the  girl  who  had  such 
pretty  poses  ;  he  had  quite  a  taste  for  pictures,  and 
then  she  afforded  him  an  excuse  for  not  a  little 
cynical  philosophy,  and  then — well  that  was  all 
he  confessed  to.  Mr.  Ellingsworth  had  one  pecu- 
liarity that  would  certainly  seem  very  commenda- 
ble. He  never  spoke  rudely  to  any  one;  it  would 
have  been  impossible  for  his  finely  grained  nature. 
Not  that  he  had  a  particularly  kind  heart,  indeed 
the  world  quite  generally  agreed  he  was  a  very 
unlikely  man  to  ask  a  favor  of;  and  there  were  some 
whispers  afloat  of  cruel  and  unrighteous  things  he 
had  done  before  he  retired  from  business.  Not  a 
few  could  have  told  an  unpleasant  story  of  how 
coldly  he  treated  the  wife  of  his  youth  when  sick- 
ness faded  her  fair  cheeks  and  spoiled  her  Madonna- 
like beauty.  No  husband  could  be  more  polished 
or  correct  in  words,  but  her  heart  was  broken,  they 
said,  by  the  cold  steel  ill-sheathed  in  his  smooth 
voice  and  elegant  courtesy.  None  of  his  servants 
ever  heard  a  surly  word  or  sharp  rebuke  from  him, 
but  somehow  they  all  seemed  afraid  of  him  ;  all 
but  this  new  acquisition  who  presumed  on  his 
good  nature  in  the  most  audacious  fashion.  The 
new  maid  did  not  seem  to  understand  it  was  her 
duty  to  withdraw  timidly  from  a  room  when  her 
master  entered  or  lingered  in  it,  or  to  modestly 
drop  her  shining  black  eyes  when  he  glanced  at  her. 


WEAK  MAN.  97 

She  thought  him  polite  and  kind,  and  in  her  inno- 
cence imagined  his  was  the  usual  manner  of  the 
well-bred  with  their  hirelings.  The  other  servants 
knew  that  humiliation  was  a  part  of  their  required 
week's  work,  which  their  wages  were  considered  to 
pay  for;  and  expected  to  see  the  thunderbolt  fall  on 
this  foolish  girl  who  did  not  know  how  precious  was 
the  purchased  privilege  of  being  cringed  to.  But 
strange  enough  the  thunderbolt  did  not  hasten. 

No,  there  were  no  lightning  flashes  in  the  eyes 
that  looked  at  her  over  the  newspaper  to-night.  He 
was  speculating  curiously  on  the  change  that  had 
come  over  the  girl  with  changed  surroundings,  and 
congratulating  himself '6n  his  shrewdness  in  foresee- 
ing it.  He  hadn't  studied  life  for, — well  never  mind 
how  many  years,  for  nothing.  Given  a  healthy 
physical  organization,  and  not  too  much  of  the 
morbid  high  moral  quality,  and  the  woman  will 
display  an  absolute  delight  in  all  the  conveni- 
ences and  embellishments  wealth  can  lend,  that 
seems  almost  uncanny.  Such  a  woman  appreciates 
love,  but  it  is  only  as  a  device  to  make  the  world 
turn  its  softest  side  to  her.  Love  without  the  ac- 
cessories of  comfort  and  elegance  is  very  pretty  for 
poems  and  songs,  but  for  practice  she  would  cool 
her  divine  frenzy,  and  marry  a  man  who  fired  her 
heart  less,  but  pleased  it  more.  Ah,  it  is  the  man 
who  has  the  means  and  inclination  to  satisfy  her  ex- 


9o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

pensive  tastes,  who  is  alone  rewarded  by  the  passion 
of  her  heart.  And  she  is  right,  too,  soliloquized  Mr. 
EUingsworth,  love  to  such  a  woman  is  only  one  of 
the  elegant  tastes,  and  is  in  keeping  only  with  poetry 
and  refinement,  velvet  divans  and  solid  silver  service. 
If  coarse,  disgusting  realities  worked  themselves  into 
the  delicate  web  of  its  day-dreams,  it  couldn't  exist. 

It  would  be  rather  pleasant  to  see  the  effect  of 
silk  and  jewxlry  on  her  rich  type  of  brunette  ;  dress 
wouldn't  be  thrown  away  on  her.  The  girl  looked 
pretty  in  ginghams  and  calicoes,  a  few  hundred  dol- 
lars now,  would  make  a  perfect  little  queen  of  her. 
Her  bright  olive  cheeks  and  neck  would  be  positively 
dazzling  in  a  cardinal  silk  with  Roman  gold  in  her 
delicate  ears.  The  great  majority  of  women  might 
as  well  wear  their  morning  wrappers  all  day  ;  full 
dress  only  makes  them  more  conspicuous.  Even 
lovely  blondes,  like  Bertha,  gain  but  little  by  rich 
dresses.  Bertha  looked  almost  her  best  when  she 
seemed  to  take  the  least  pains  to  do  so.  But  how 
dress  would  tell  on  this  little  maid  ! 

Jane  Graves  had  no  idea  her  master  was  looking 
at  her.  She  was  thinking  of  the  last  time  she  had 
seen  Curran.  Why  she  never  expected  that  night, 
ever  to  be  happy  again,  and  now  she  wasn't  sure  but 
she  should  be  happy  in  such  a  beautiful  place  as  this 
even  if  he  died,  or  loved  another  woman  instead  of 
her.     But  no,  she  could  never  endure  the  last.     Per- 


WEAK  MAN.  99 

haps  he  would  find  her  out  some  day,  and  come  to 
her,  and  he  would  tell  her  it  was  all  a  mistake,  that 
he  really  loved  her  all  the  time  ;  only  that  he  w^as 
ashamed  to  ask  her  to  share  his  poverty.  It  is  hard 
for  a  woman  to  believe  a  man  cares  nothing  for  her, 
that  melting  d'ark  eyes  and  tender  tones,  breathing 
the  wildest  of  worship,  can  be  nothing  to  her  hero. 

Suddenly  the  girl  started,  and  a  deep  flush  lit  up 
her  dark  face.  Up  the  walk,  to  the  front  doorway, 
came  the  man  of  whom  she  thought  with  his  own 
lordly  stride  as  if  he  were  a  prince,  indeed,  as  he  de- 
served to  be.  Her  heart  was  in  a  sweet  glow  ;  he  had 
found  her  out,  and  had  come  for  her.  She  would 
leave  all  these  beautiful  things  with  rapture  for  him. 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  saw  the  man's  figure  at  the 
front  gate,  and  the  girl's  start,  and  smiled  rather  dis- 
agreeably to  himself.  He  had  wondered  before  why 
her  lover  didn't  come,  and  here  he  was  at  the  front 
door,  no  doubt  expecting  to  be  entertained  in  the 
parlor.  Certainly  Jane  Graves  must  know  too  much 
to  marry  a  poverty-stricken  man,  just  because  she 
liked  having  a  lover.  She  wasn't  the  sort  of  woman 
to  be  happy  in  that  kind  of  madness.  Somebody 
ought  to  tell  her,  it  would  be  a  boon  to  the  young 
man,  too,  who  no  doubt  was  fancying  he  was  going 
to  marry  right  into  heaven,  because  the  girl  could 
talk  foolishly  to  him  now. 

Jane    Graves    glided    into    the    hall.      Suddenly 


TOO  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

grown  shy  at  the  maiden  passion  of  her  own  heart, 
she  slowly  opened  the  front  door.  What  would  he 
say  first?  Would  he  take  her  hand  which  had  grown 
so  white  and  soft  lately  ?  Would  he  ask  to  kiss  her, 
and  with  beating  heart  she  stood  in  the  open  door- 
way. 

It  had  now  grown  almost  dark,  perhaps  he  did 
not  see  her  plainly. 

"Did  you  ring?''  she  asked  foolishly,  while  her 
heart  sank  down,  down,  would  it  never  stop  ? 

'*  Is  your  mistress  in?" 

What  was  this — some  strange  mistake?  Could 
he  not  see  who  it  was  held  the  door  open  for  him  ? 

"  My  mistress.  Miss  EUingsworth  ?  why  yes,  she 
is  in  the  parlor."  It  must  be  a  joke,  but  now  he  had 
frightened  her  enough,  and  how  they  would  laugh 
together  over  it.  She  was  attempting  to  smile, 
when  she  heard  the  parlor  door  open   behind  her. 

"  Yes,  I  am  here."  It  was  Bertha  Ellingsworth's 
voice,  and  if  her  face  was  in  keeping  with  it,  it  must 
have  been  soft  and  beautiful  as  an  angel's.  The  vis- 
itor passed  in,  and  Jane  Graves  shut  the  outer  door 
heavily  and  sank  upon  the  floor,  pressing  with  both 
her  hands  against  her  bursting  heart.  Then  she 
leaped  upon  her  feet  in  sudden  madness,  and  hurried 
along  the  hall  to  the  parlor  door.  What  right  had 
this  rich  woman  to  steal  away  her  lover  ?  She  would 
care  only  to  amuse  herself  with  him   for  a  few  days, 


WEAK  MAN.  JOI 

and  then  her  servants  would  be  told  to  shut  the  door 
in  his  face.  Such  cold  creatures  as  she  never  love ; 
passion  they  know  nothing  of,  only  the  passion  to 
break  honest  men's  hearts.  Why  not  warn  him? 
Oh,  but  what  was  Jane  Graves  to  him  ?  he  might  re- 
mind her  how  he  had  spurned  her  from  him  once. 

The  girl  turned    and   came  back.      It  wouldn't 
hurt   him  any  to  know  how  a  broken  heart  feels  ;   he 
might,  by-and-by    be  sorry  for  the   poor   little    fac- 
tory girl  he  had  put  away  from  him.     She   opened 
the  dining-room  door.     But  the  woman  who  would 
break   his  heart,  who    would    entangle   him  in  the 
perfumed    meshes  of   her  golden   hair,    who  would 
tempt  him  to  look  deep  into  the  eternal  calm  of  her 
great   blue   eyes,  and  dream  it  was  love  he  saw,  and 
then  laugh  him  to  scorn— was  there  no  punishment 
for  her?     Jane  Graves  went  back  into  the  dining- 
room,  now  grown  dark,  and  threw  herself  into  a  chair. 
The  poor  cannot  fight  against  the  rich.      Ah !  but 
she  could  hate  her  mistress'  white  face.      She  could 
curse  her  in  her  thoughts  with  all  the  evils  in  the 
universe.    The  girl  burst  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

'^  What  is  the  trouble,  little  girl  ?"      It  was  her 
master's  voice.     She  had  forgotten  him. 

The  girl  heard  him  draw  a  chair  near  hers,  but  she 
did  not  uncover  her  face. 

''  Was  your  beau  unkind  to  you  ?      Well,^  don  t 
have  anything  more  to  say  to  him,  then,  Jennie." 


I02  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Why !  the  elegant  Mr.  Elllngsworth  was  actually 
kissing  his  maid  !  What  difference  did  it  make  ?  the 
one  she  loved  had  thrown  her  away,  and  trampled 
her  devotion  under  his  feet.  She  even  let  him  draw 
her  shapely  little  head  to  his  shoulder,  and  take  her 
hands  away  from  her  face.  They  hid  her  lips,  he 
said, — when  the  door-bell  rang. 

Mr.  EUingsworth  answered  the  bell  himself — a 
breach  of  etiquette  not  frequent  with  him,  even 
under  the  liberalizing  influence  of  village  manners. 

"  Mr.  Breton,  charmed  to  see  you,"  and  there  was 
not  the  faintest  trace  of  ill-humor  in  his  perfectly 
trained  voice.  The  old  gentleman  might  have  been 
the  most  opportune  of  guests. 

But  his  daughter  had  not  been  schooled  enough, 
by  a  great  many  years,  for  such  self=control,  and  she 
started  to  her  feet  as  her  parlor  door  opened,  almost 
in  consternation  There  was  quite  a  study  for  char- 
acter in  the  room  at  that  moment.  Curran  had  not 
arisen,  his  lips  might  have  been  closed  a  little  tighter 
than  usual,  but  his  face  did  not  even  reveal  surprise. 
Mr.  Breton  had  reached  the  centre  of  the  room 
before  he  saw  whom  Bertha  had  been  entertaining, 
but  now  he  stood  in  astonishment — he  had  no  con- 
cern to  hide — snapping  his  black  eyes  from  the  young 
lady  who  was  soon  to  be  his  son's  wife,  to  this 
weaver  in  the  mill,  who  did  not  seem  so  much  out 
of   place   in    this  fashionable   parlor,    either.      The 


WEAK  MAN.  103 

crisis  had  come,  and  Bertha  was  entirely  unprepared 
for  it.  Her  heart  was  fluttering  wildly,  and  for  the 
moment  she  wished  she  had  never  seen  the  man 
whose  presence  embarrassed  her.  A  moment  before, 
she  had  forgotten  there  was  such  a  thing  as  wealth 
or  rank,  devoutly  confident  such  a  man  as  her  guest 
could  stand  before  kings  ;  but  the  door  had  opened, 
and  let  in  the  breath  of  pride  and  caste,  scattering  the 
halo  about  the  poor  man's  head.  Suddenly  she 
looked  with  new  repugnance  at  him  she  had  just 
thought  so  ^sublime.  Why  did  he  not  go  ?  She  was 
flushed  with  vexation  at  his  stubbornness  in  delay- 
ing. Had  he  no  sense  of  propriety,  to  court  asocial 
meeting  with  her  aristocratic  father,  who  would  rid- 
icule him  without  his  guessing  it,  and  the  blunt 
mill-owner,  who  would  be  sure  to  insult  and  brow- 
beat him  plainly.  She  expected  to  see  him  rise 
awkwardly,  and  shuffle  out  of  the  room,  perhaps 
pulling  his  forelock  respectfully  to  the  company  that 
was  not  for  such  as  he. 
If  he  had. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Weak    Wojnan. 

CURRAN  glanced  keenly  at  the  face  of  his  beau- 
tiful hostess,  whose  wonted  serenity  had  all 
gone,  then  he  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood,  while  she 
spoke  his  name  in  the  briefest  form  of  introduction. 
He  did  not  seem  offended  by  the  stare  of  surprise 
Mr.  Breton  had  for  him.  It  was  a  new  experience  to 
the  mill-owner,  meeting  his  workmen  in  fashionable 
parlors. 

"  Curran,  is  it  ?  I  was  sure  I  had  seen  you  in 
the  mill,  but  you  had  on  a  white  apron  then."  Mr. 
Breton  laughed  familiarly,  but  he  did  not  hold  out 
his  hand. 

Couldn't  Curran  see  how  rudely  he  was  treated  ? 
Mr.  Breton's  laugh  and  tone  rasped  Bertha's  finer 
sensibilities,  so  that  she  was  at  once  indignant  with 
him,  and  disgusted  with  Curran,  who  seemed  to  bear 
it  so  unconsciously.  Curran's  brow  was  unruffled  ; 
he  had  only  folded  his  arms  across  his  breast,  some- 
times a  sign  of  excitement  with  him,  she  had  noticed. 
He  must  be  made  of  stone  or  stubble  not  to  writhe 
under  such  treatment,  before  her.     But  was  the  man 


WEAK   WOMAN. 


105 


foolish  enough  to  think  he  was  obliged  to  stay  here 
and  endure  it  ?  The  girl's  full  under  lip  began  to  curl 
in  contempt.  No  doubt  he  was  flattered  at  bemg  .n 
such  company,  and  would  endure  any  insult  of  man- 
ner in  unconscious  vanity,  or  perhaps  he  thought  he 
might  curry  favor  with  his  employer  Apparen  ly 
he  had  forgotten  all  about  her  ;  he  had  ooked  at  he, 
once,  that  was  all,  since  her  father  and  Mr.  Breton 
had  come  into  the  parlor. 

But  her  father  had  looked  at  her  more  than  once, 
and  there  was  considerable  material  for  study  m  the 
changes  that  passed  over  her  face.  There  was  . 
half  puzzled  and  half  amused  expression  m  his  eyes 
as  if  he  had  just  fallen  upon  a  phenomenon,  which 
seemed  to  prove  almost  too  completely,  some  pet 

*^^°  Mr  Curran  had  the  good  fortune,  I  believe,  to 
do  my  daughter  a  great  service."  Mr.  Ellingsworth  s 
mannL  wa^s  the  perfection  of  that  peculiar  tone  so 
thorou^^hly  well  bred  in  its  variety  of  rudeness,  .t  ex- 
pr^sed^the  infinite  elevation  and  polish  of  the  person 
who  assumed  it,  far  above  the  very  natural  feeling  of 
lisgust  at  the  presence  of  so  vulgar  a  person  as  this 
;  fkman.  It  suggested  irresistibly  the  grea  con- 
tempt such  a  person  ought  to  call  f°"l^'bu*^;j^ 
same  time  that  Ellingsworth  was  unapproachable  by 
even  as  vulgar  a  thing  as  contempt. 

"Indeed!"   exclaimed  Mr.  Breton,  as  he  seated 


I06  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

himself,  "  I  will  thank  you,  too,  it  was  a  good  job  for 
you,  and  I  will  see  it  don't  hurt  your  interests  any, 
either." 

What  further  was  he  waiting  for  ?  His  calculations 
had  turned  out  to  be  judicious.  Mr.  Breton  had 
promised  to  look  out  for  him.  If  Curran  knew  how 
every  new  insult  or  familiarity  made  her  despise 
him,  he  would  not  linger.  Bertha  stood  waiting  for 
him  to  go,  but  instead,  he  stepped  back  to  his  chair 
and  sat  down.  He  had  not  spoken  yet,  but  his  arms 
were  folded  tighter  than  before  over  his  chest. 

"  How  do  you  like  your  work  ?"  went  on  Mr. 
Breton  in  his  harsh  mill  voice.  "  I  hope  you  aint  one 
of  those  who  don't  know  when  they  are  well  off." 

"  I  can  keep  from  starving  ;  that  is  well  off,  I 
suppose." 

Mr.  Breton  was  at  loss  but  for  a  moment. 

''  But  you  poor  people  don't  save  what  you  get. 
You  ought  to  economize." 

Curran's  eyes  flashed  dangerously,  but  he  bit  his 
lip  and  kept  silence. 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  saw  a  scene  was  imminent. 
How  little  tact  Mr.  Breton  had,  patronizing  the 
young  man  so  provokingly,  before  the  golden-haired 
goddess,  he  had  no  doubt  fallen  in  love  with.  Some- 
thing must  be  done. 

"  Excuse  me.  Have  you  had  any  serious  trouble 
with  your  wound,  Mr.  Curran?  " 


WEAK    WOMAN.  107 

"  I  have  only  lost  a  few  days,  that  Is  nothing," 
he  answered  quickly. 

''  But  it  must  be  considerable  for  a  poor  man  !  " 
broke  in  Mr.  Breton  with  his  grand  air,  ''  I  will  direct 
my  paymaster  to  make  it  up  to  you." 

Curran  glanced  across  the  room  at  Miss  Ellings- 
worth.  He  expected  to  see  her  face  flushed  with 
anger.  She  would  leap  to  her  feet  in  indignant  re- 
monstrance to  shield  him  from  such  impertinence, 
all  the  generosity  of  her  nature  in  revolt  against  such 
return  for  his  devotion  to  her. 

She  was  looking  at  him,  but  much  as  a  girl  looks 
at  a  strange  animal  she  has  been  petting,  when 
suddenly  they  tell  her  he  bites.  Curran  turned  away 
from  her  and  ground  his  teeth.  Then  he  looked  at 
Mr.  Breton. 

''  Can't  your  paymaster  make  up  for  the  pain, 
too,  as  well  as  the  lost  time  ?  " 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  was  at  his  wit's  end.  He  saw 
the  cloud  gathering  in  the  workman's  eyes,  and  that 
his  lip  trembled  with  suppressed  feeling  when  he 
spoke. 

*'  How  long  have  you  been  in  town,  Mr.  Curran  ?  " 
he  said  to  change  the  conversation  if  possible  into 
safer  channels. 

''  Only  six  months." 

*'  Why,"  volunteered  Mr.  Breton  after  an  awk- 
ward silence,  "  that  is  about  as  long  as  the  mill  hands 


I08  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

have  been  fault-finding  so  loudly."  The  old  gentle 
man  looked  sharply  at  him.  ''  I  don't  suppose  you 
would  tell  who  has  been  making  the  trouble." 

Mr.  EUingsworth  was  almost  out  of  humor.  His 
friend  actually  seemed  only  fit  for  his  own  factory. 
What  is  the  good  of  riches  to  a  man  who  has  no 
conception  of  the  amenities  it  cultivates,  and  is 
capable  of  treating  a  person  he  meets  in  a  parlor  as 
if  he  were  playing  overseer.  Not  that  he  need  have 
any  consideration  for  the  man,  but  certainly  he 
ought  to  have  some  respect  for  a  parlor.  Once  out, 
of  course  such  a  person  as  Curran  should  never  out- 
rage the  elegant  precincts  again,  what  could  Bertha 
have  been  thinking  of?  But  so  long  as  he  was  here — 

"Yes  sir.''  Curran  had  risen  to  his  feet,  the  flush 
of  offended  self-respect  in  his  cheeks,  "  when  I  came 
here  I  found  the  mills  paying  you  twelve  per  cent 
dividends,  while  the  help  who  ground  them  out  for 
you,  were  crushed  almost  to  the  earth.  I  felt  bound 
to  tell  them  as  I  now  tell  you,  that  the  owner  has 
no  more  God-given  right  to  all  the  profit  of  their 
work,  any  more  than  they  to  all  the  profit  of  his 
investment." 

"  And  you  are  the  man  who  has  been  stirring  up 
this  mischief  here !  "  cried  Mr.  Breton,  almost  start- 
ing from  his  chair.  He  had  caught  him  at  last  then. 
"  And  do  you  say  that  a  man  isn't  entitled  to  the  in- 
terest on  his  money  ?     My  money  represents  a  thou- 


WEAK    WOMAN.  IO9 

sand  such  lives  as  yours,  it  ought  to  have  a  thou- 
sand times  the  pay."  He  had  more  terrible  guns 
than  of  the  batteries  of  logic  for  the  rebel,  but  he 
could  not  resist  the  temptation  to  explode  the  falla- 
cies of  his  class  before  he  let  him  go. 

The  young  man's  eyes  flashed  beautifully.  As  for 
this  girl  who  had  suddenly  grown  ashamed  of  him 
before  her  own  class,  she  might  learn  he  could  bow 
and  scrape  and  cringe  to  no  one.  If  she  had  no  care 
to  shield  her  own  guest  in  her  own  parlor  from  in- 
sult, thank  God,  he  was  bold  enough  to  vindicate  his 
own  manhood,  no  matter  what  it  cost  him.  And 
what  gentleness  had  any  of  them  deserved  of  him  ? 
One  had  cut  him  with  his  keen  sarcasm  and  his  two- 
edged  politeness,  and  another  heaped  impertinence 
on  rudeness  till  now  he  fairly  challenged  him  to  a 
battle  of  words.  Why  should  he  not  with  rough 
hand  lay  bare  the  cruel  falsehood  on  which  this  great 
man's  wealth  was  built  ? 

''  Your  money  represents  a  thousand  lives,  then, 
out  of  which  you  have  sucked  the  life  blood  ?  And 
at  how  much  do  you  value  a  human  life  ?  As  much 
as  a  thousand  dollars  for  a  soul?  A  thousand  dol- 
lars for  all  the  joys  and  hopes  and  possibilities  of  a 
human  life  ?  Your  valuation  is  too  miserably  small. 
I  tell  you,"  and  Curran  threw  out  his  right  hand  in 
a  magnificent  gesture,  "  I  tell  you,  a  human  crea- 
ture ought  to  have  for  its  service  a  good  portion  of 


no  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

the  comforts  and  delights  the  world  is  so  bounteous 
with.  Anything  less  is  slavery,  a  slavery  worse  than 
negro  bondage.  Do  you  call  it  pay,  that  you  give 
the  hopeless  men  and  women  that  weave  gold  for 
you  on  your  looms  ?  Rather  say  the  daily  recurring 
fact  of  hunger  chains  them  to  your  mill." 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  had  sunk  back  in  his  seat  in 
despair  ;  he  might  as  well  resign  himself  to  the  sit- 
uation since  it  seemed  beyond  his  power  to  change 
it.  Mr.  Breton  was  likely  to  hear  some  startling 
truths  before  he  succeeded  in  refuting  this  dangerous 
young  man.  Perhaps  it  was  just  as  well,  too,  there 
is  no  sense  in  a  man's  making  his  money  as  the 
rich  do,  by  one  kind  or  another  of  imposition  or 
injustice  and  then  affect  such  ridiculous  unconscious- 
ness. There  is  no  sense  in  being  blind  and  stupid 
about  how  one  comes  to  be  rich,  the  comfortable 
fact  remaining.  What  was  the  use  of  Breton  wrest- 
ling with  such  a  young  giant  as  this  ? 

"  I  pay  my  help  market  prices  of  labor.  I  don't 
propose  to  make  them  gifts."  The  old  gentleman 
handled  his  cane  nervously,  but  he  could  punish  the 
man  enough  later.  He  felt  Ellingsworth's  sharp  eyes, 
he  must  think  of  something  to  absolutely  overwhelm 
the  arguments  of  his  workman.  He  ran  over  in  his 
mind  the  smooth  axioms  of  his  class,  and  tried  hard 
to  recollect  some  of  the  perfect  syllogisms  of  the 
political  economists. 


WEAK    WOMAN.  Ill 

Curran  stood,  his  elbow  resting  on  the  back  of 
the  chair  he  had  been  sitting  in,  in  an  attitude  so 
dignified  and  graceful  that  Mr.  Ellingsworth  glanced 
across  at  his  daughter  to  see  if  she  had  observed  it. 
It  was  not  quite  so  inconceivable,  after  all,  that 
Bertha  might  have  taken  a  fancy  to  him.  But  then 
his  whole  associations  had  been  with,  the  poor,  and 
what  possible  harmony,  even  for  a  moment — then 
Mr.  Ellings  worth  remembered  the  maid  servant  cry- 
ing at  this  moment  in  the  dining-room. 

"  Naturally  you  prefer  to  let  your  half-clothed  ill- 
fed  hands  make  you  the  presents  ;  they  earn  you  big 
dividends  ;  you  throw  them  a  crust  of  bread,  the 
market  price  of  labor  you  call  it,  and  put  the  divi- 
dends in  your  own  pocket." 

''  But  it's  my  money  made  the  mill,  and  my  man- 
agement runs  it." 

''  As  for  the  money,"  retorted  Curran,  "perhaps 
you  inherited  a  part  of  it,  saved  by  the  tax  laid  on 
the  poor  of  the  last  generation,  or  you  borrowed  it, 
perhaps,  on  interest,  and  made  the  help  in  your  mill 
pay  the  interest  every  penny  of  it,  how  else  could  it  be 
paid  ?  Then  from  that  start  which  the  stolen  profits 
of  the  poor  gave  you,  you  managed,  as  you  say,  to 
squeeze  a  big  enough  fortune  out  of  the  rightful 
earnings  of  your  laborers  to  pay  back  your  borrowed 
money,  and  leave  the  mills  free  to  grind  their  grist 
for  you  only.     You  did  not  make  your  money  ;  no 


1 1 2  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

man  can  till  two  million  of  dollars  out  of  his  farm,  or 
dig  it  out  of  a  coal  mine.  You  simply  took  it.  Your 
new  mills  are  paid  for  out  of  wages  you  ought  to 
have  given  your  help  ;  you  call  them  yours  ;  the  new 
machinery  comes  out  of  them.  They  are  the  real 
stockholders  in  it  all.  If  it  were  possible  for  one 
man's  brain  or  muscle  fairly  to  win  a  fortune,  it  could 
be  done  on  a  farm.  It  cannot  be  done  till  a  man 
manages  to  make  hundreds  of  unwilling  suffering 
creatures  contribute  of  their  wretched  subsistence." 

Mr.  Breton  had  sprung  from  his  seat,  but  Curran 
went  on  unflinchingly.  "  It  isn't  earned,  it  is  sim- 
ply defrauded.  The  management  is  doubtless  good, 
but  no  management  could,  in  the  righteous  course  of 
justice,  bring  such  vast  fortunes  into  the  hands  of  a 
few  men  ;  while  the  thousands  who  work  for  them 
live  and  die  with  the  consuming  thirst  for  happiness 
never  for  one  hour  assuaged  in  their  souls." 

The  old  gentleman  had  come  up  close  to  him  as 
he  spoke,  and  as  he  finished,  Curran  looked  down 
calmly  into  a  face  almost  purple  with  passion.  It 
occurred  to  him  that  Mr.  Breton  was  about  to  have 
an  attack  of  apoplexy.  The  hand  that  held  his 
gold-headed  cane  fairly  trembled.  Could  a  man  never 
be  so  rich  that  unpleasant  facts  must  not  touch  him  ? 

*'  You  have  earned  your  last  penny  in  my  mills  ?  " 
the  old  gentleman  shouted  at  him.  ''  We  ought  to 
have  laws  to  shut  up  such  men  as  you." 


WEAK    WOMAN.  II3 

But  Curran  looked  away  as  If  he  had  not  heard 
him.  Of  course,  what  Mr.  Breton  had  threatened 
him  with  was  a  foregone  conclusion. 

"  Mr.  Elllngsworth,"  he  said,  as  that  gentleman 
rose  to  his  feet,  '*  I  am  very  sorry  to  have  brought 
such  a  scene  Into  your  parlor.  It  seemed  unavoidable 
after  what  was  said  to  me,  and  it  seems  likely  to  prove 
more  unfortunate  for  me  than  for^anybody  else."  He 
moved  two  or  three  steps  toward  the  door.  "  The 
most  I  can  do  is  to  promise  never  to  come  again." 

No  one  thought  of  anything  to  say.  Mr.  Ellings- 
worth  vaguely  wondered  where  the  man  picked  up 
his  neat  way  of  talking,  but  then  the  wealthy,  after 
all,  have  no  monopoly  of  talent  ;  it  Isn't  like  the  old 
world. 

Curran  cast  a  withering  look  of  contempt  on  the 
mill-owner,  who  had  nothing  more  to  say.  ''  I  am 
sorry  too,  to  be  deprived  of  the  chance  to  win  my 
daily  bread,  but  I  may  serve  as  an  illustration  of  the 
workings  of  the  slavery  I  spoke  of.  i\nd  by  the 
way,Mr.  Breton,  you  will  have  to  modify  those  direc- 
tions to  your  paymaster  you  were  good  enough  to 
offer  me  earlier  in  the  evening.  Miss  EUingsworth, 
good-bye." 

He  did  not  notice  that  the  expression  of  the 
girl's  face  had  changed,  or  that  she  had  started  to 
come  to  him,  and  there  was  a  grandeur  of  wrath  In 
his   face  and  bearing  that  awed  her.     She  stood  in 


1 14  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

the  centre  of  the  room,  with  heaving  bosom,  and 
frightened,  troubled  eyes,  watching  him  out  of  the 
door.  Then  her  father  came  back  through  the  hall 
with  his  sarcastic  smile  finely  curving  his  thin  lips. 

Why  should  he  spare  his  ridicule?  Had  she  not 
deserted  her  guest  in  shame,  suffered  insult  and  im- 
pertinence to  be  heaped  upon  him,  and  sat  by  in 
contemptible  silence  ?  But  how  beautifully  he  had 
known  how  to  preserve  his  own  honor.  It  would 
have  been  base  and  ignoble  in  him  to  have  crawled 
out  of  her  parlor  at  the  entrance  of  her  father  and  Mr. 
Breton,  self-confessed  unworthy  to  sit  in  their  pres- 
ence. And  for  all  their  wealth  and  power  and  van- 
tage ground,  careless  of  what  it  must  cost,  he  had 
thrown  their  insults  in  their  teeth  and  shown  him- 
self a  grander  man,  a  thousand  times,  than  either  of 
them. 

The  warm  flood  of  returning  feeling  swept  over 
her  soul.  She  could  not  bear  one  more  cruel  word 
against  him  now.  Before  her  father  could  speak  she 
had  hurried  into  the  hall  and  shut  fast  the  door  so 
that  she  should  not  hear  the  bitter  sentence  that  was 
just  parting  his  lips. 

What  strange  impulse  moved  her  that  she  should 
go  to  the  outer  door  and  look  eagerly  down  the 
street.  But  her  insulted  guest  had  not  lingered.  In 
a  moment  more  she  was  at  the  gate,  and  saw  his  tall 
form   only  at   a  little   distance.     No   doubt   he  was 


WEAK    WOMAN.  II5 

thinking  sadly  or  perhaps  angrily  of  her,  as  he  walked, 
and  he  could  not  guess  that  she  had  repented,  and 
was  eager  this  moment  to  beg  his  forgiveness,  with 
all  the  sweet  words  she  knew.  Bertha  glanced  back 
at  the  house  in  hesitation.  She  could  see  the  slim 
outlines  of  her  father's  figure  shadowed  on  the  cur- 
tains. She  could  not  hear  what  he  was  saying.  It 
was  this  : 

"  It  is  one  of  Bertha's  freaks.  All  women  are 
subject  to  them." 

"  But  I  don't  understand,"  insisted  Mr.  Breton, 
wiping  the  perspiration  from  his  heated  face.  "  I 
don't  understand  how  she  can  bring  herself,  a  girl  of 
her  notions,  to  entertain  a  fellow  like  this.  How 
long  do  you  suppose  this  has  been  going  on?  Ever 
since  the  dog  adventure,  very  likely.  If  I  were 
Philip  _." 

''  But  you  recollect  I  am  only  three  days 
returned  from  my  trip,  and  am  entirely  unable  to 
tell  you  how  many  times  she  has  met  this  very 
striking  individual.  Don't  hurry  yourself  into  men- 
tal decline  by  trying  to  explain  on  logical  principles 
a  woman's  performances,"  smiled  Mr.  Ellingsworth. 
"■  And  I  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  suggest  mis- 
givings to  Phil.  I  would  rather  trust  the  girl's  na- 
ture, and  I  think  I  know  it,  than  depend  on  a 
jealous  lover's  reproaches.  Why,  my  dear  friend,  I 
would  stake  my  life  on  the  girl's  attachment   to  the 


Il6  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

traditions  of  her  position.  Our  wives  and  daughters 
are  thrice  more  intolerable,  unreasonable  aristo- 
crats than  we.  If  she  has  been  guilty  of  a  touch  ot 
foolish  sentiment,  reaction  is  certain,  and  she  will 
only  despise  the  man  the  more  because  of  her  sea- 
son of  blindness." 

'*  But  supposing  the  reaction  come  too  late," 
suggested  Mr.  Breton  anxiously.  ''  Then  it  better 
not  come  at  all,"  he  continued.  "  The  very  character 
you  give  her  would  make  three  people  perfectly  mis- 
erable— the  man  she  refuses,  the  man  she  marries, 
and  herself." 

*'  Excuse  me,"  answered  Mr.  Ellingsworth,  with 
his  most  unpleasant  smile,  "■  I  doubt  if  a  daughter  of 
mine  would  be  unhappy  so  long  as  her  physical  com- 
fort was  unabated.  That  would  suppose  a  certain 
over-sensitive  moral  quality  that  doesn't  go  with  our 
blood,"  and  the  proud  father  slightly  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  '*  But  be  satisfied,  I  think  I  saw  unmis- 
takable symptoms  this  evening  that  the  reaction  of 
custom  against  nature  has  already  set  in." 

But  the  girl  who  had  stood  at  the  gate,  in  her 
slippers,  and  with  no  covering  for  her  head  only  her 
golden  hair  fastened  low  on  her  neck,  had  hesitated 
but  a  moment.  She  could  not  let  Curran  leave  her 
thus  ;  perhaps  she  should  never  see  him  again,  if  he 
went  away  without  one  word  from  her  to  soften  the 
blows  she  had   let  them  give  him.      And  then  h^. 


WEAK    WOMAN.  117 

seemed  to   be  walking  slowly;  she  could  overtake 
him  in  a  moment.     The  uneven  walk  hurt  her  feet, 
her  slippers  were  so  thin,  and  as  she   hfted  her  skirt 
to  walk  faster,  a  rude  briar  tore  her  soft   flesh,  and 
then    hung    greedily   to  her,  to    impede   her    steps. 
She  stopped,  and  caUed  his  name.       She  had  hardly 
murmured  it,  but  it  seemed  so  loud  spoken,  and  so 
tender  toned,  she  blushed  at  herself,  and   dared   not 
speak   it    again.     She    might    run  a  few    steps,  and 
then  he  would  hear  her  voice   more   plainly.       But 
her   dress   clung    so  closely,  and   then  her  excited 
breath  came  so  fast,   that  she  gained  on  him    very 
slowly.     There  was  no  use,  she  must   lose  him   for- 
ever out  of  her  life  ;  he  must  always  think  her  cruel 
and     ungenerous.     She     leaned    against    the     fence 
and  sent  one  more  hopeless   cry  after  him.     It  was 
more  a  sob  than  a  cry,  a  piteous  sob,  trembling  with 
gentle  heart-broken   reproach.     Why,  she  was   sure 
he  must  have   heard  that ;  she  had  never  meant   to 
speak  so  loud.     What  could  she  say  to  him  when  he 
came  back  to  her  ?     She  must  try  to  be  very  cold 
and   dignified.     But  wasn't  he  goin^^  to  turn  ?    why, 
her  cry  was  piercing  enough  to  go  a  mile  on  the 
still  evening  air.      No,  he  was   farther  away,  he  had 
not  heard  her. 

Then  she  looked  back,  and  was  frightened  to  see 
what  a  distance  she  was  away  from  her  home.  And 
as  she  stood  looking,  now  at  his  tall  form  drawing 


1 1 8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

unconsciously  away  from  her,  and  then  at  the  dis- 
tant lights  of  her  home,  the  first  hint  of  the  desola- 
tion that  broods  over  millions  of  hopeless  hearts, 
came  upon  her  soul.  Her  slippers  were  torn,  and  wet 
with  dew,  and  each  step  she  took  bruised  the  tender 
feet  that  had  never  known  hurt  or  weariness,  only  of 
pleasure.  Her  heavy  masses  of  hair  had  been  shaken 
from  their  fastenings,  and  hung  at  full  length  to  her 
waist.  She  fancied  herself  some  lost,  friendless 
Magdalen,  for  whom  the  world,  that  fawns  on  the 
fortunate  and  proud,  had  only  taunts  and  cruel 
blows.  And  were  there  women  who  had  to  face  the 
world  alone?  fight  their  own  battles  with  timid 
hearts  ?  earn  their  own  right  to  breathe,  with  shrink- 
ing hearts  ? 

"  What  was  that,  a  step,  a  man's  step  coming 
toward  her?"  To  her  excited  imagination,  at  that 
moment,  her  beautiful  home  and  the  elegant  life  she 
loved  so  well,  seemed  things  of  the  past.  Why  had 
she  never  been  more  pitiful  to  the  poor  and  the  hope- 
less, whose  name  was  legion  ?  Now  she  knew  what 
they  -might  suffer.  There  were  but  a  few,  after  all, 
who  were  favored  of  fortune,  the  rest  were  weary, 
and  faint  and  broken,  as  she  was  to-night. 

She  gathered  her  hair  into  a  loose  coil,  and  let 
her  dress  trail  on  the  walk  to  cover  her  feet.  The 
man  wore  workman's  clothes.  She  had  hoped  he 
might  be  a  gentleman.     She  tried   to   keep  on  the 


WEAK    WOMAN.  II9 

outer  edge  of  the  side-walk ;  she  would  have  taken 
the  road,  if  she  had  dared.  She  looked  away  from 
the  man,  but  she  could  see  with  beating  heart  he  was 
coming  directly  toward  her.  But  perhaps  he  did  not 
see  her,  and  he  might  turn  aside  yet.  God  grant  he 
be  an  honest  man,  whose  wife's  loving  face  was  in 
his  thoughts  at  this  moment  !  There  were  such  men. 
But  instead  of  moving  aside,  the  man  stopped  short 
just  before  her,  and  she  raised  her  big,  scared  eyes 
to  his  face. 

"  Why,  Bertha,  I  thought  it  was  you." 

Sure  enough,  it  was  Philip  Breton.  He  had 
come  from  the  mill,  where  there  had  been  some 
extra  work. 

"  Let  me  walk  home  with  you,"  he  said  very 
gently,  as  if  he  had  no  right  to  assert  any  privi- 
lege with  her. 

**  I  came  too  far,  and  got  frightened,"  she  said 
dreamily,  as  she  rested  her  hand  on  his  arm. 

Her  hand  was  cold,  but  its  touch  sent  his  young 
blood  tingling  through  his  veins. 

*'  I  am  so  sorry."  How  he  longed  to  catch  her 
white  hand  to  his  lips,  and  warm  it  with  kisses.  But 
lately  she  had  treated  him  with  a  new  coldness,  and 
her  coldness  he  dare  not  meet.  He  dreaded  to  face 
it,  it  pained  him  so  past  endurance,  and  he  had 
called  on  her  but  seldom  since  the  night  of  the  fire. 
But  now  his  heart  was  full  of  eloquent  love  ;  so  full, 


I20  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

he  could  not  conceive  of  her  not  sharing  in  it.  It 
was  she  called  it  forth,  she  must  have  something  for 
him. 

They  had  reached  her  gate.  She  would  surely 
invite  him  to  go  in  with  her.  Then  she  could  tell 
him  if  he  had  done  anything  to  displease  her.  He 
could  remember  nothing,  but  women  are  so  gentle, 
there  might  have  been  some  unconscious  cold  word 
or  tone,  as  if,  poor  fellow,  he  had  not  been  only  too 
tender  with  her. 

"  Good-night,"  she  said.  She  had  lost  the  tre- 
mor in  her  voice  fright  had  given  her,  and  all  the 
softness  of  heart  of  her  loneliness. 

'*  I  thank  you,"  she  added  coldly,  as  he  did  not 
go,  but  stood  looking  at  her  as  if  he  did  not  quite 
understand. 

'^  Good-night,"  he  answered,  with  a  great  throb 
in  his  throat.  He  stumbled  awkwardly,  as  he  went 
down  the  steps  ;  he  could  not  see  very  well  for  the 
mist  in  his  eyes. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Ungrateful  Populace. 

PHILIP  BRETON  sat  late  over  the  tea  table, 
one  evening  some  days  after.  His  father  had  been 
detained  down  in  the  village,  and  had  come  home 
with  a  good  deal  on  his  mind  apparently.  Indeed, 
the  old  gentleman,  who  generally  laid  aside  his  hard- 
ness outside  his  own  doors,  had  sat  in  silence  wrink- 
ling his  forehead  very  inartistically  almost  through 
the  meal. 

"  Poor  folks  are  always  ungrateful,"  he  ex- 
claimed harshly  at  last  as  he  shook  his  head  severely 
at  the  maid  servant  who  offered  him  the  cake  basket. 
The  little  maid  started  violently  ;  what  had  he  given 
her  that  she  was  ungrateful  about  ?  But  the  young 
master  Philip  gave  her  an  amused  smile  that  calmed 
her  fears  ;  somebody  else,  then,  had  committed  the 
unpardonable  sin,  according  to  the  code  of  the  rich. 
And  she  tried  in  vain  to  think  of  some  poor  people 
who  had  any  blessings. 

"  Here  I  have  whitewashed  every  house  for  them 
and  they  needed  it  enough,  too,  and  it  was  only  to- 
night  I  heard   some  grumbling  old  woman  tell  her 


122  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

husband,  she  wondered  how  old  Breton  would  like 
to  live  in  one  of  his  own  tenements." 

He  pushed  back  his  chair  in  a  movement  of  per- 
fect disgust.  '•  What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it  ?  I 
don't  undertake,  and  only  a  fool  would  expect  it,  to 
provide  an  elegant  house,  with  ail  the  modern  im- 
provements, and  an  acre  of  land  for  a  front  yard,  to 
every  laborer  in  my  mills  that  earns  ninety  cents  a 
day." 

Philip  said  nothing,  it  had  been  his  habit  lately 
when  his  father  got  on  this  theme,  to  keep  silence. 
He  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  say.  His  father's 
logic  seemed  correct,  but  then  there  was  all  that 
debasing  poverty  to  stare  it  out  of  countenance. 
Was  there  not  an  occasion  for  another  line  of  logic, 
or  if  not,  for  something  besides  logic,  if  logic  shut 
out  a  thousand  strong,  big-hearted  men,  and  gentle 
souled  women,  and  joy  loving  children,  all  to  make 
one  family  rich  beyond  all  conceivable  wants.  But 
his  father  took  his  silence  for  the  expected  assent 
and  went  on. 

"  Why,  look  at  it,  Phil.  The  insurance  on  the 
burned  mill  won't  make  up  for  the  lost  time  in  re- 
building, and  this  is  the  time  they  select  to  ask  for 
fire  escapes.  Yield  them  an  inch  and  they  want  an 
ell.  You  are  in  the  mill  a  good  deal,  you  must  see 
it  for  yourself.  I  suppose  they  think  I  ought  to  run 
the  factory  for  a  big  benevolent  institution.     Every 


UNGRA  TEFUL  POP ULA  CE,  1 23 

man  that  is  poor  curses  me  for  it,  and  not  one  shift- 
less family  in  town,  I'll  warrant,  but  would  lay  the 
fault  on  my  shoulders.  By  the  way,  Phil,  you  have 
been  to  college,  you  ought  to  know  if  there  isn't  any 
way  I  can  stop  the  tongue  of  that  tall  brown-haired 
fellow.  Can't  the  law  touch  him  ?  I  have  discharged 
him,  but  he  does  more  mischief  than  ever." 

''  Discharged  Curran  !  "  exclaimed  Philip.  "  You 
don't  mean  it !  why  he  is  the  man  that  saved  Bertha's 
life,"  and  he  continued  hurriedly,  "  You  must  take 
him  back  at  once,  it  would  be  the  most  outrageous 
return,  you  must  take  him  back  at  once,  no  matter 
what  he  has  said." 

"  No  matter  what  he  has  done  either,  I  suppose," 
said  Mr.  Breton  with  some  heat.  "  Perhaps  I  know 
more  of  the  interesting  young  man  than  you  do,"  he 
went  on  indiscreetly.  "  It  may  be  as  well  for  you  if 
I  open  your  eyes  a  little— What  is  it,  Mary?" 

''  Three  men  at  the  door,  sir.     They  want  to  see 

you,  sir." 

'*  Say  gentlemen,  not  men,"  corrected  Mr.  Bre- 
ton sharply  as  he  rose  from  the  table. 

"  I  think  they  are  workmen."  To  be  sure.  The 
mill-owner  found  three  of  his  workmen  in  his  study ; 
all  standing  when  he  entered  because  they  felt  less 
awkward  on  their  feet. 

^'  Send  my  son  in,"  he  called  to  Mary.  ''  He  might 
as  well  learn  how  to  meet  this  sort  of  occasion." 


124  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

The  delegation  of  workmen  did  not  look  very 
fierce  ;  one  of  them  kept  gazing  longingly  out  of  the 
window,  and  smoothing  his  napless  felt  hat ;  another, 
out  of  whose  soiled  coat  pocket  stuck  the  stem  of 
a  clay  pipe,  was  studying  the  ceiling  of  the  room 
with  an  intensity  only  explainable  by  his  fear  of  his 
master's  eye.  They  were  two  of  the  men  who  had 
peered  into  the  parlor  windows  of  this  very  house 
on  the  evening  our  story  commences.  The  third  was 
John  Graves,  whose  eyes  were  fixed  unflinchingly  on 
the  mill- owner  for  whom  he  had  a  message.  When 
Philip  came  in  he  was  a  little  startled  to  see  his 
quondam  host,  but  the  man  had  other  things  to 
think  of  than  the  possible  identity  of  this  elegantly 
dressed  young  gentleman  with  the  ungrateful  tramp 
he  had  kept  once  over  night. 

''  There's  a  meetin'  of  the  mill  han's  down  in  the 
hall,  sir,  and  they  sent  us  up  to  ask  a  favor." 

Mr.  Breton  had  seated  himself  before  his  long 
office  table  and  pulled  up  a  file  of  business  letters. 

"You  have  too  many  meetings,"  he  said  loudly. 
"  You  talk  so  much  you  aren't  fit  to  work.  Some 
of  the  noisiest  of  you  will  find  themselves  out  of  a 
job,  some  fine  morning,  one  man  did  the  other  day." 

Philip  drew  away  a  little  from  his  father's  chair 
where  he  had  been  standing.  That  didn't  seem  quite 
the  way  to  treat  intelligent  human  beings.  That  was 
hardly  permitting  free  speech  and  why  had  one  man 


UNGRATEFUL   POPULACE.  12$ 

any  reason  to  conclude  his  talk  was  correct  and  a 
thousand  others,  false.  And  then  Curran's  discharge  ; 
he  must  certainly  restore  him  instead  of  boasting  of 
something  so  like  the  black  ingratitude  he  inveighed 
so  much  against. 

The  two  other  men  looked  anxiously  at  their 
spokesman.  If  they  had  dared  they  would  have 
begun  to  make  excuses  for  coming  ;  for  their  wives 
and  babies  must  be  fed  ;  and  talking  about  their  rights 
wouldn't  ever  feed  them  ;  and  the  master  looked  so 
stern.  Let  others  who  could  afford  to  offend  him  go 
to  the  meetings.  But  the  poor  fellows  were  afraid  to 
raise  their  voices,  even  in  apology. 

''  But  the  willingest  of  us  all  don't  want  to  be 
roasted  to  death  ;  and  it  aint  a  bit  pleasanter  to  us 
men  folks  to  think  of  seein'  our  wives  and  children 
burnt  up  before  our  eyes.  Our  women  aint  quite  so 
purty  as  those  of  the  rich  :  but  a  few  on  us  prize 
'em  as  much.  We  come  to  ask  for  firescapes  on 
the  mills.  So  if  there  should  happen  to  come  a 
fire  in  daytime  when  the  mills  were  full,  the  poor 
critters  could  git  out."  It  was  quite  a  long  speech 
for  John  Graves  in  such  august  presence;  and  he 
delivered  it  in  the  monotonous  Yankee  drawl  which 
carries  high  tragedy  or  low  comedy  without  a  distinc- 
tion of  accent. 

Mr.  Breton  was  well  accustomed  'to  the  blunt 
form   of  speech  of  the  common  people  who   have 


126  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

never    had    time    to    study    fine  shades   of   expres- 
sion. 

*'  There  is  no  danger,"  he  answered  with  a  gruff 
laugh,  "  and  in  business  we  can't  spend  much  money- 
providing  against  very  unHkely  events.  Fire  escapes 
would  be  a  piece  of  useless  extravagance."  Mr.  Bre- 
ton looked  sharply  at  his  visitors  over  the  file  of  let- 
ters. ''  It  would  make  necessary  another  cut  in  your 
pay." 

Bill  Rogers  fingered  his  pipe  uneasily  in  the  sig- 
nificant silence  that  followed  and  finally  drew  it  half 
out  of  his  pocket  through  force  of  habit  in  distress. 
Then  he  found  his  voice. 

''  Yer  jokin',  squire,  yer  wouldn't  cut  us  poor 
devils  down  again.  The  last  cut  seemed  as  if  it 
would  kill  us,  till  we  found  out  how  little  it  takes  to 
keep  soul  and  body  together  if  a  critter  don't  expect 
nothin'  else.  Why,  squire,  a  dog  has  the  best  of 
some  on  us  now  ;  for  folks  let  him  steal."  The  tall 
man  thrust  back  his  pipe  into  the  depths  of  his 
pocket,  and  his  face  hardened  into  a  sullen  expres- 
sion as  he  added  solemnly,  ''  I  cal'late  another  cut 
would  fill  all  the  jails  in  the  county.  Yer  might  as 
well  give  us  the  least  we  can  live  on  here,  as  support 
us  in  prison." 

The  mill-owner  rose  to  hl^  feet  with  a  bustling 
movement  of  impatience.  When  would  he  learn 
that   men  like  these  were  incapable  of  appreciating 


UNGRA  TEF UL  POPULACE.  12/ 

sound  argument.  It  was  much  more  judicious  to  say 
no,  in  a  tone  they  could  not  question.  The  unrea- 
sonable beings  had  no  conception  of  the  principles 
of  political  economy,  but  always  had  some  particular 
hardship  of  their  own  to  urge  against  its  beautiful 
theories,  as  if  what  made  the  rich  more  rich  must 
not  in  some  way  help  the  beggars  even  that  cringed 
at  their  feet. 

"  Well,  well,  I  don't  mean  to  cut  you  again  if  you 
don't  bother  me  too  much.  I  have  lost  so  much 
that  I  really  can't  afford  another  dollar  of  expense." 
He  rang  the  bell  for  the  servant. 

There  was  a  gleam  of  sarcastic  humor  in  John 
Graves'  black  eyes. 

''  But  wouldn't  it  now  be  quite  a  loss  to  burn  up 
a  thousand  such  good  cheap  factory  ban's?  I 
wouldn't  thought  you  could  afford  that.  These  fire 
'scapes  now — " 

,  *'  Show  them  out,  Mary,"  interrupted  Mr.  Breton 
angrily.  *'  You  might  as  well  know,  I  could  find  a 
thousand  as  good  and  as  cheap,  in  a  week,"  and  he 
shut  the  office  door  after  them  with  a  slam. 

"  But  you  have  let  those  men  go  away  thinking 
you  had  just  as  lief  they  would  be  burned  to  death," 
expostulated  Philip,  flushing  with  excitement. 

^'  Nothing  of  the  kind  sir,  only  that— but  do  you 

.  take  sides  with  them,  that  is  the  last  thing  I  expected, 

that   my   own   son  would   take    part  against    me." 


1 2 8  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

Possibly  the  old  gentleman  was  a  little  ashamed  of 
having  spoken  quite  as  harshly  to  the  workmen  as 
he  had.  It  would  be  repeated  all  about  town.  And 
it  was  certainly  incautious,  but  his  very  uneasiness 
made  him  the  more  provoked  at  Philip's  suggestion. 
"  I  presume  you  picked  up  a  few  socialistic  ideas  at 
school.  No  doubt  you  would  like  to  put  on  the  fire 
escapes  out  of  the  money  your  mother  left  you." 
He  rang  the  bell  violently. 

''Yes  I  would,"  exclaimed  Philip,  his  eyes  light- 
ing up.  "  I  will  be  very  glad  to  pay  for  it  all.  It 
seems  unjust  somehow  to  crowd  the  men  and  girls 
into  the  mills  as  thick  as  they  can  work,  and  not  pro- 
vide so  but  that  they  all  may  be  burned  to — " 

"  Mary,  bring  those  three  men  back,"  interrupted 
Mr.  Breton. 

"  But  they  are  on  the  street  by  this." 

*'  It  makes  no  difference,"  and  the  choleric  old 
gentleman  brought  his  fist  down  with  a  crash  on  the 
table.  "  Go  after  them,  if  you  have  to  chase  them 
a  mile.     Bring  them  back,  I  say." 

The  little  office  clock  ticked  its  loudest  to  break 
the  silence,  till  the  door  opened  to  let  in  the  return- 
ing committee.  What  could  it  mean?  Mr.  Breton 
stood  with  his  back  turned  to  them,  drumming  on 
the  window  pane,  while  Philip,  pale  and  uncomfort- 
able, looked  nervously  at  his  father,  and  then  at  the 
three    awkward  figures   in    the  doorway,   with  the 


UNGRATEFUL  POPULACE.  1 29 

breathless  servant  girl  behind  the  mwaiting  for  start- 
ling developments. 

"  You  can  report  to  your  meeting,"  said  Mr.  Bre- 
ton in  a  constrained  voice,  without  facing  the  work- 
men, *'  My  son  will  put  on  the  fire-escapes  at  his 
own  expense.     That  is  all." 

The  men  were  astonished.  So  the  young  mill- 
owner's  son  had  begun  to  redeem  his  promise  of  the 
night  of  the  fire.  There  were  rough  words  of  grati- 
tude on  their  lips,  their  hearts  were  in  a  glow,  after 
the  first  chill  of  disappointment,  but  there  was  an 
influence  in  the  little  office  that  hushed  their  eager 
speech,  and  they  onl)^  ducked  their  heads  in  awk- 
ward acknowledgment,  and  followed  the  maid  out. 

"  Did  you  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Breton  in  a  calmer 
tone  as  he  left  the  window,  and  took  his  chair  by  the 
long  table,  "  that  I  was  going  to  let  you  pay  for  those 
fire-escapes  ?  Not  a  penny,  my  dear  boy,  but  you 
can  have  the  credit  of  it,  discredit  I  should  call  it." 
He  opened  the  drawer  and  drew  out  a  sheet  of  busi- 
ness paper. 

"  The  Breton  Mills,"  was  printed  at  the  top. 
He  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink,  and  wrote  in  the  date. 

Then  he  wrote  the  address,  as  follows:  *'  John  T. 
Giddings,  esq.  Attorney  at  Law,  42  Loring  Street, 
Lockout." 

''  Please  sit  down,  Phil.  I  am  not  much  in  the 
habit  of  talking  of  my  business,  to  anybody,  but  I 
0 


130  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

presume  it  is  your  right  to  know  this."  Mr.  Breton 
laid  down  his  pen,  and  clasped  his  hands  behind  his 
head.  "  I  want  to  make  this  mill  four  times  its  pres- 
ent size  ;  I  haven't  the^money,  but  other  men  have. 
I  am  going  to  take  those  other  men  in  with  me,  and 
then  turn  the  whole  thing  into  a  corporation.  Gid- 
dings  is  managing  it  for  me." 

Philip's  face  fell.  A  corporation  !  Then  all  his 
thoughts  of  some  day  letting  a  little  light  into  the 
lives  of  the  villagers,  so  far  always  in  the  shadow,  his 
dreams  which  had  lent  a  new  dignity  to  his  life,  and 
his  promise  to  them,  were  all  for  nothing.  A  soul- 
less corporation,  with  nobody  to  blame  for  an  act  of 
injustice  !  How  it  would  rivet  the  shackles  of  the 
poor  past  any  power  of  his  hands  to  loose  them. 

*' What  is  the  trouble,  my  boy?"  smiled  his 
father,  in  his  superior  wisdom.  "  One  would  think 
you  wanted  the  tough  job  I  have  had,  over  again. 
It  is  too  much,  too  much  for  a  man  ;  why,  I  thought 
I  was  doing  you  a  kindness.  A  man  thinks,  at  first, 
he  is  strong,  that  he  won't  care  for  the  murmurs 
and  the  threatenings  of  his  help,  but  he  gets  tired. 
The  amount  of  power,  almost  like  God's,  Philip," 
said  Mr.  Breton  excitedly,  "  almost  like  God's  ;  a  big 
fortune  gives  a  man,  is  too  much,  too  much."  He 
came  around  the  table,  and  put  his  hand  on  his 
son's  shoulder. 

"  The  people  are  so  poor  and   unhappy,  we  can't 


UNGRATEFUL   POPULACE.  I3I 

shut  our  eyes  to  it.  Don't  we  all  wonder,"  he  went  on 
in  this  new,  strange  mood  Philip  was  fairly  startled 
at,  "don't  we  all  wonder  what  life  is  worth  to  them, 
that  they  are  so  hungry  for  the  bread  that  keeps  the 
breath  in  them  ?  And  they  all  blame  the  men  who 
own  the  mills  ;  they  think  it  is  our  hardness  and  in- 
justice. A  man  may  know  he  is  all  right,  that  rich 
men  have  always  done  as  he  is  doing,  that  the  few  al- 
ways have  the  best  of  everything,  and  seem  to  deprive 
the  masses  of  their  rights  ;  but  it  wears  on  a  man  ; 
he  wants  to  get  behind  somebody." 

The  little  office  clock  ticked  on  restlessly,  for  an- 
other week,  and  Philip  had  come  to  feel  that  to  be 
in  love  may  be  the  most  terrible  misfortune  of  a 
man's  life.  His  pride  had  not  let  him  call  again  on 
Bertha  for  days  of  distress,  days  of  hot,  dry  wretch- 
edness, whose  dawn  was  a  new,  pitiless  reminder  of 
his  quenchless  passion  that  met  only  insult.  It  was 
insult,  as  he  felt  it,  for  a  lover  has  sensibilities  pain- 
fully acute,  and  can  detect  the  slightest  change  in  a 
woman's  relations  with  him,  by  signs  too  subtle  for 
unstimulated  observation.  A  hair's  breadth  varia- 
tion in  tone  makes  mysterious  revelations,  sweet  or 
bitter  to  him  ;  a  shade  of  expression  in  the  beautiful 
blue  eyes,  has  a  meaning  clearer  than  words,  to 
thrill  him  with  hope,  or  plunge  him  into  despair. 
And  in  those  days,  too,  he  found  time  to  remember 
how  unlover-like  Bertha  had  always  been  to  him,  and 


132  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

every  time  she  had  met  his  ardor  w'tli  coldness, 
with  all  the  instances  of  hardness  and  neglect  she 
had  meted  out  to  his  devotion,  rose  up  in  his  mind 
like  hideous  sins  that  will  not  be  forgot.  How  he 
had  fooled  himself,  and  he  had  been  so  happy  in  his 
delusion. 

The  beginning  of  love  is  an  arch  of  flowers,  whose 
rare  perfume  seems  fresh  wafted  from  heaven — what 
danger  can  lurk  in  such  tempting  p'v.tals?  The 
eager  traveler  steps  lightly  in  ;  he  pushes  aside,  with 
fingers  trembling  in  new  delight,  the  low  hanging 
boughs  of  unfaded  green.  He  tastes  the  honey  on  the 
roses  that  half  open  their  petals  in  ravishing  tender- 
ness for  his  clinging  kisses.  But  when,  all  of  a  sud- 
den, the  roses  close  their  sweet  mouths  to  him,  and 
the  boughs  swing  up  in  some  strange  chill  breeze, 
beyond  his  reach,  and  he  turns  to  go,  nc  .v  each  green 
leaf  reveals  a  thorn  to  torture  him,  and  beneath  the 
graceful  garlands  many  a  poisoned  spear-head  is 
pointed  at  his  heart.  Philip's  face  had  lost  its  merry 
humor,  for  now  he  was  continually  either  determin- 
ing dark  and  cheerless  purposes  never  lo  see  Bertha 
again,  since  he  knew  at  last  she  had  never  loved  him, 
or  else  starting  at  some  voice  that  sounded  like  hers, 
or  a  sudden  association  of  memory  that  made  her 
seem  near  him.  Sometimes,  in  despair  of  subduing 
a  passion  that  only  grew  the  stronger  tor  his  strug- 
gle against  it,  he  would  resolve  to  go  to  licr  and  fall  at 


UNGRATEFUL  POPULACE,  1 33 

her  feet,  with  all  the  suicidal  humility  of  a  mad  lover, 
and  beg  her  to  marry  him — to  marry  him  for  the  love 
of  God,  for  he  could  not  live  another  day  without  her. 
Again,  as  to-night  when  he  sat  in  the  little  study,  he 
would  try  to  laugh  at  the  folly  that  set  a  pretty  face 
above  all  the  glorious  aims  in  life,  and  a  face,  too, 
that  had  never  once  lit  up  with  love  for  him.  Was 
a  man  such  a  weakling  that  he  could  not  get  along 
without  a  woman's  soft  perfumed  breast  to  lean  his 
head  upon?  Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him. 
Wasn't  that  pretty  picture  of  Bertha  as  a  young 
girl  in  one  of  these  drawers  ?  Very  likely  she  had 
loved  him  no  more  then  than  now  ;  he  was  sure  he 
could  teU  from  the  eyes  in  the  photograph.  He 
threw  himself  into  the  chair  before  the  table,  and 
pulled  out  one  drawer  after  another,  in  morbid  eager- 
ness to  drive  another  knife  into  his  heart. 

There  came  a  light  tap  at  the  door.  He  closed 
the  drawers  and  turned  about  in  his  chair,  in  time  to 
see  Mary,  the  maid,  enter  with  a  letter  for  him.  He 
glanced  at  the  writing,  and  then  was  so  angry  at  the 
sweet  glow  about  his  heart,  that  he  tossed  the  letter 
carelessly  on  the  table. 

The  maid  had  lingered  with  a  woman's  unweary- 
ing taste  for  sentiment  ;  but  now  she  slammed  the 
door  on  him  and  went  bridling  down  the  hall  in  high 
dudgeon. 

"  He's' a  pretty  beau,  he  is,"  she  muttered,  "  if  I 


134  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

was  that  girl  of  his,  I'd  teach  him  to  treat  my  love- 
letters  that  way." 

But  the  maid  did  not  see,  for  the  door  was  shut, 
what  might  have  better  suited  her  ideas  of  pro- 
priety. Her  young  master  had  torn  open  the  envel- 
ope, and  read  the  three  lines  of  the  letter,  before 
Mary  had  finished  her  disgusted  soliloquy.  Then  he 
re-read  it  a  dozen  times,  and  behaved  generally  in  as 
foolish  a  fashion  as  the  most  exacting  sweetheart 
could  have  desired.    But  there  were  only  three  lines. 

"  I  have  not  deserved  it,  I  do  not  deserve  it  ;  but 
will  you  call  before  seven  to-night? — Bertha." 

But  where  was  his  sullen  determination  never  to 
see  her  again  ?  Had  he  forgotten  so  soon  that 
she  had  never  loved  him  ?  But  he  remembered 
that  moment,  that  to-morrow  was  the  day  she  had 
promised  to  let  him  talk  of  marriage  to  her,  the 
month  would  be  up.  She  had  meant  it  in  joke,  no 
doubt,  but  might  it  not  be  she  remembered  it  now, 
and  perhaps  was  blushing  as  she  wrote  this  note  of 
reconciliation,  for  fear  he  should  put  her  in  mind  of 
it  ?  Ah,  to  be  sure  he  would,  he  had  been  too  timid 
a  lover,  altogether,  she  should  see  after  this.  There 
was  a  new  flush  on  his  face,  which  any  woman  might 
have  thought  handsome  this  moment,  and  a  new 
bright  light  in  his  eyes.  Why,  it  was  near  seven 
o'clock,  now.    And  he  rose  to  go  out. 

"  Bah  !"  It  was  his  father  who  opened  the  door 


UNGRATEFUL   POPULACE.  1 35 

and  came  in,  tearing  a  scrap  of  paper  between  his  fat 
fingers. 

But  Philip  thrust  his  letter  into  his  inside  pocket, 
and  then  made  sure  it  was  safe,  as  if  it  were  a  pre- 
cious ticket  of  admission. 

''  My  dear  Phil,  if  there  ever  was  a  man  fool 
enough  to  try  and  give  the  poor  what  they  want, 
they  would  lead  him  the  wildest  kind  of  a  wild  goose 
chase,  I  can  tell  you.  You'll  see  yet  I  was  right  about 
those  fire  escapes.  Since  they  have  got  those,  the 
help  are  clamoring  for  something  new  every  day. 
They  devote  all  their  spare  time  trying  to  think  of 
some  Right  they  are  kept  out  of.  I  suppose  the  nin- 
nies imagine  the  mills  ought  to  be  run  in  their  inter- 
est," and  Mr.  Breton  smiled  at  the  absurdity  of  the 
idea  conjured  up.  Then  he  tossed  the  torn  bits  of 
paper  into  the  waste  basket.  ''There  goes  one  of  their 
warnings  ;  I  have  burnt  a  dozen  within  a  week.  '  If  I 
don't  do  this  or  that,  my  mills  will  stop,  they  read. 
I  wouldn't  wonder  if  a  strike  was  brewing.  I  only 
wish  they  would  give  me  one  more  day,  they  might 
scare  some  of  the  capitalists  if  they  should  make  a 
disturbance  to-morrow,  but  after  to-morrow  it  will 
be  too  late.  They  can  do  their  worst,  we  will  always 
have  the  whip  hand  of  them." 

"  Is  your  corporation  actually  going  to  be  started 
to-morrow,"  exclaimed  Philip,  breathlessly,  "  I  didn't 
know  but  it  was  given  up." 


13^  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

**  I  never  give  anything  up,  my  son.  But  you 
can  help  me  a  good  deal,  if  you  will.  The  hands  trust 
you,  they  would  do  as  you  urged  them.  You  under- 
stand how  to  talk  to  them.  Yes  you  do,  don't  stop 
me,  didn't  your  ready  tongue  save  the  mill  once,  the 
night  of  the  fire  ?  Now  just  you  run  down  town,  go 
into  their  meeting,  if  there  is  any,  calm  them  down 
some  way,  I  don't  care  how,  Philip,  all  I  want  is  one 
day  more.  If  they  should  happen  to  strike  to-mor- 
row, good  gracious,  Phil,  it  might  knock  my  corpo- 
ration scheme  all  to  smithereens.  Little  mercy 
they'd  ever  get  after  that,  from  me,  though.  You  see 
they  won't  gain  anything  either  way,  strike  or  no 
strike,  but  you  see  I  might  lose.'' 

Philip  moved  toward  the  door  in  silence.  To- 
morrow good-bye  to  hope  from  any  help  of  his,  and 
his  father  expected  him  to — 

"  That's  right,  my  boy,  don't  delay,  I  am  expect- 
ing a  man  here  every  minute,  and  I — " 

''  But,  father,  I   can't—" 

"  Yes  you  can.  Ah  !  good  evening,  Mr.  Gid- 
dings.     My  son,  Mr.  Giddings,  my  lawyer." 

"  But  I  must  say  one  word  to  you." 

"  No,  positively  not  one  moment,  Phil,  later  on. 
Good-night." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  New  Galatea. 

BERTHA  rose  from  her  chair  slowly  like  one  in 
a  dream,  and  looked  long  and  earnestly  at 
Philip  as  he  came  toward  her.  There  was  a  red  spot 
on  either  cheek,  and  her  eyes  seemed  preternaturally 
large  and  bright.  At  first  he  fancied  it  was  out  of 
joy  at  seeing  him.  Then  she  smiled  as  if  she  had 
not  thought  of  it  before,  but  with  a  strange  gentle- 
ness that  was  intensely  pathetic. 

''  You  don't  come  as  often  as  you  used,  but  you 
have  always  been  very  good  and  kind  to  me,  Philip," 
she  said  vaguely  as  if  rehearsing  the  virtues  of  the 
departed. 

His  heart  came  into  his  throat,  and  he  could  not 
speak.  Was  this  her  coming  back  to  him  ?  It  was 
more  like  a  funeral.  She  motioned  him  to  sit  near 
her,  and  then  she  started  and  seemed  to  listen. 

"  Have  I  been  very  cold  and  hard  with  you, 
Philip,  when  you  wanted  me  to  love  you  ?  "  She  laid 
her  hot  fingers  on  his  hand,  but  her  eyes  wandered 
lingeringly  around  the  parlor  walls. 


1 3  8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

*'  It  is  nothing,  my  own  sweetheart,"  he  answered 
her  anxiously,  "  only  say  you  love  me  now." 

She  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  ''  I  must  have 
made  you  suffer.  I  did  not  understand,  you  know, 
what  it  all  meant." 

She  had  taken  his  hand,  and  bent  over  toward 
him  with  a  troubled  look  on  her  face.  She  rested 
one  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  her  lips  almost  touched 
his  forehead. 

"  Do  you  forgive  me  ?  "  she  said  softly,  and  yet 
her  voice  was  as  dispassionate  as  an  angel's  whisper. 

"  Why,  there  is  nothing  to  forgive,"  Philip  an- 
swered, his  words  of  love  frozen  on  his  lips,  there 
was  something  so  terrible  in  the  mysterious  mood 
that  was  upon  her.  ''  But  do  you  remember,"  he 
added  with  a  forced  smile,  "  what  you  promised  for 
to-morrow." 

*'  To-morrow  ?  "  she  drew  back  from  him  fearfully, 
**  to-morrow,"  she  repeated  as  if  the  word  had  some 
strange  mystery  in  it.  "  Have  I  promised  you  any- 
thing for  to-morrow." 

It  was  not  Bertha  Ellingsworth  at  all,  as  he  had 
known  her,  it  was  rather  as  he  had  dreamed  she 
might  be.  In  the  commonest  Df  women  are  ele- 
ments of  character,  germs  of  emotions,  that  in  their 
height  and  fused  together  can  glorify  her  to  a  crea- 
ture of  resistless  power  and  dignity,  with  holy  fire 
shining  in  her  face.     It  is  the  sleeping  goddess,  men 


A  NE  W  GALA  TEA.  1 39 

worship  in  women,  for  worship  is  the  truest  form  of 
love,  and  when  that  worship  is  lost,  the  part  of  love 
for  which  a  man  would  make  a  hero  of  himself,  and 
rise  above  every  grovelling  taint  in  his  nature,  is  lost 
too.  A  woman  may  sin  and  not  repent ;  she  may 
seem  as  shallow  as  the  surf  on  the  shining  sand  just 
before  its  ebb,  but  so  long  as  a  man  believes  in  the 
goddess  in  her,  he  waits  on  her  folly,  he  strives  to 
gild  over  her  sin,  in  ennobling  reverence  for  her  pos- 
sibilities. 

''  Why,  to-morrow  was  the  day  you  promised  to 

let  me  talk  of — " 

'' I  remember."  She  drew  back  from  him,  and 
clasped  her  white  hands  for  a  moment  over  her  fore- 
head, "  and  have  you  been  thinking  a  great  deal 
of  it?" 

''  Why  not  to-night,  Bertha,"  he  begged  in  sudden 

fervor. 

But  she  started  to  her  feet  like  one  in  mortal 
terror.     ''  Oh  no,  not  to-night !  " 

Then  she  came  near  him  again,  and  looked  down 
with  a  new  sad  smile  as  he  held  her  hand  to  his  lips. 
"  You  don't  mind  very  much,  do  you  ?  I  am  not  very 
much  of  a  woman  really,"  she  said  wistfully, ''  if  it 
wasn't  for  the  habit  you  have  fallen  into." 

Then  she  glanced  at  the  clock  on  the  mantel, 
that  had  presided  at  so  many  sweet  interviews  be- 
tween these  two. 


1 40  THE  BRETON  MILL S. 

"  Aren't  you  going"  to  the  labor  meeting,  it  niust 
be  begun  before  this  ?  " 

Her  voice  had  changed,  there  was  a  sharp  and 
uneasy  tone  in  it  that  brought  PhiHp  to  his  feet. 

''  I  didn't  know  there  was  any,"  he  repeated 
stolidly. 

''  I  must  have  been  mistaken  then,"  she  looked 
troubled. 

How  fortunate  that  she  should  know.  Well  he 
might  as  well  go  and  attend  to  his  father's  business. 
Bertha  had  nothing  for  him  that  did  not  break  his 
heart. 

She  followed  him  to  the  door. 

"  How  sad  the  moonlight  is.  I  am  afraid  of  it,** 
she  said  as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  him. 

He  did  not  see  it,  but  stood  looking  out  into  the 
still  night,  the  moonlight  making  his  face  show  wan 
and  set  as  if  that  moment  he  was  crushing  forever 
the  dearest  hope  of  his  life. 

Then  he  heard  a  broken  voice  coming,  it  seemed 
a  long  way  to  his  ears. 

"  Oh,  Philip,  aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me  good — 
good-night  ?  " 

His  passion  he  had  thought  crushed  came  over 
him  in  a  storm.  He  gathered  her  yielding  form  in 
his  arms  as  if  he  never  would  loose  her  again,  and 
kissed  her  trembling  answering  lips  a  dozen  times, 
and  her  wet  anxious  eyes. 


A  NEW  GALATEA.  I4I 

"Bertha,  T  will  not  go,"  he  whispered  hurriedly. 
"■  I  can  not  leave  you  thus." 

But  she  had  gently  released  herself  from  his  em- 
brace.    She  tried  to  smile  at  him  through  her  tears. 

"  No,  no,  you  must  go."  Still  he  hesitat-ed  till  a 
strange  eagerness  came  into  the  blue  eyes.  ''  No,  no, 
you  must  go.     Good-bye,  Philip." 

As  he  went  down  the  steps  and  out  of  the  gate, 
the  chill  of  the  last  expression  in  her  eyes  hung  about 
his  heart.  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  about.  She 
had  closed  the  door,  but  something  white  fluttered 
on  the  step.  It  was  her  handkerchief,  with  the  per- 
fume she  always  used  in  its  delicate  folds.  He  car- 
ried it  to  his  face — it  was  almost  as  if  he  touched 
her.  He  stood  hesitating  a  moment — a  moment  big 
with  issues  to  them  both.  He  remembered  her  tender 
words  and  the  rare  caresses  she  had  had  for  him  :  he 
forgot  the  undertone  that  had  so  painfully  inter- 
preted them.  It  was  as  if  he  had  tasted  of  some 
priceless  vintage  of  wine.  He  would  return  in  an 
hour  and  taste  again.  Ah,  he  had  waited  patiently 
for  the  moment  when  this  woman  of  stainless  marble 
would  turn  to  flesh !  And  now  his  foolish  heart 
counted  all  its  hard  lessons  for  nothing,  but  beat  high 
with  triumph.  ''To-morrow."  She  understood  him, 
then,  but  how  modest  and  timid  she  was  ;  to-morrow 
would  be  for  them  both  the  brightest  day  of  their 
lives.     But  she  was  startled  at  herself  now,  no  won- 


142  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

der,  at  the  revelation  of  the  depths  of  such  a  heart. 
She  wanted  a  Httle  time  to  calm  herself;  to  get 
wonted  to  the  new  woman  that  looked  out  of  her 
eyes. 

He  had  made  up  his  mind,  and  the  moon  went 
under  a  black  cloud  for  anger.  But  it  was  only  for 
an  hour:  then  he  would  come  back. 

Market-hall  was  crowded,  and  Curran  was  speak- 
ing at  a  pitch  of  impassioned  eloquence  beyond  any- 
thing Philip  had  ever  heard. 

*'  What  overwhelms  you  is  your  own  energies 
fused  into  weapons  of  deadly  warfare;  it  is  their 
cunning  which  turns  your  myriad  hands  against 
yourselves.  Where  else  can  they  find  the  force  to 
vanquish  you  ?  The  rich  are  but  few.  Whose  hands 
but  yours  are  strong  and  numerous  enough  to  carry 
out  their  plans  ?  The  longer  you  submit,  the  stronger 
they  entrench  themselves  with  your  flesh  and  blood. 
Every  week  some  new  trade  or  profession  is  invented 
to  make  respectable  and  steady  some  new  discov- 
ered method  of  living  out  of  the  poor  ;  every  month 
some  new  law  is  passed  in  the  interests  of  the  money 
power." 

He  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  went  on  with 
more  bitterness.  "  Every  month  the  upper  classes 
grow  more  indifferent  to  the  foundation  on  which 
they  rest — of  throbbing,  agonizing  human  flesh.  Not 
satisfied  with  the  terrible  natural  distinction  between 


A  NE  IV  GA  LA  TEA .  143 

wealth  and  poverty,  they  invent  codes  of  manners 
and  devise  elaborate  systems  of  what  they  mincingly 
call  etiquette.  Marriage  with  the  poor  is  inexcusa- 
ble. Even  familiarity  with  inferiors — a  great  breach 
of  "  propriety  "  they  call  it.  They  ask  not,  is  a  man 
honest  and  true  hearted,  is  he  kind,  but  is  he 
wealthy,  or  did  he  ever  soil  his  hands  with  work? 
Not  is  a  woman  beautiful,  is  she  modest  ?  these  are 
of  little  account  ;  but  is  she  well,  that  is  richly,  con- 
nected ?  If  her  father  cheats  others  she  may  be 
admitted  to  their  circles,  if  he  is  unfortunate  enough 
to  be  cheated,  never.  Ah,  the  shame  of  it,  that  makes 
no  account  of  hundreds  of  million  of  human  creatures 
of  untainted  blood,  of  unclouded  intellects,  only  as 
mere  beasts  of  burden  ;  to  deny  them  social  privi- 
leges, and  whip  the  boldest  of  them  back  into  the 
darkness  of  ignorance  and  contempt.  All  the  lights 
of  knowledge  must  burn  for  the  few  alone,  all  the 
soft  influences  of  culture,  and  the  elevating  pleasures 
from  art  and  genius  are  for  the  few  alone."  He 
folded  his  arms  over  his  broad  chest  and  threw  back 
his  head  in  one  of  his  grandest  gestures. 

''  And  how  have  they  earned  the  right  to  call 
themselves  mankind,  to  drink  alone  at  the  fountains 
of  knowledge  and  inspiring  beauty,  with  never  a  share 
for  the  millions  sweating  under  the  burdens  their 
white  hands  have  put  upon  them  ?  No  carpets  of 
priceless  web  are  too  fine  for  their  lovely  women's 


144  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

feet,  rubies  not  rare  enough  for  their  jewels.  Music 
beats  out  its  heavenly  harmonies  for  them  alone, 
with  its  treasured  meaning  of  uncounted  centuries. 
Painting  ravishes  their  eyes  alone  with  the  pictured 
realms  of  inspired  fancy.  Literature  scrapes  and 
cringes  before  them,  with  its  stores  of  wisdom.  De- 
served !  God  himself,  in  the  full  glory  of  his  om- 
nipotence, would  not  outrage  his  creatures  thus,  and 
yet  they  are  our  creatures  and  we  suffer  it." 

Then  he  threw  out  his  arms  and  came  forward  to 
the  edge  of  the  platform,  for  one  last  personal  appeal. 
A  hundred  that  could  not  understand  all  he  said, 
thrilled  in  vague  revolt  under  his  irresistible  mag- 
netic force. 

"  Your  bodies,  whose  only  pleasure  is  sleep, 
whose  only  gratification  is  to  still  the  daily  recurring 
necessary  hunger,  your  bodies  could  enjoy  every 
luxury  and  beauty,  ah,  and  the  common  Christian 
comforts  would  be  sweetest  luxuries  to  you,  which 
have  palled  on  the  sated  senses  of  the  rich.  Your 
minds  and  souls  could  grow  fine  and  broad  and 
calm,  in  the  education  their  pampered  children  scoff 
at  ;  and  the  world  progress  more  in  a  year,  than  in 
centuries  before.  And  you  are  a  thousand  to  one  ; 
the  joys  and  comforts,  the  blessed  possibilities  of  a 
thousand  lives,  against  the  insensate  greed  of  one 
man  for  more,  and  more  he  cannot  eat,  or  drink,  or 
enjoy.     It  is  his  madness,  but  they  do  not  confine 


A  NEW  GALATEA.  145 

such  as  he,  who  sets  the  world  back  ten  years  for 
one  he  lives.  But  when  he  opens  his  great  vault 
to-morrow  and  sits  down  to  count  his  ill  gotten 
gains  of  the  yesterday,  let  his  heart  sink  within  him  ; 
he  has  refused  his  workmen  the  common  rights  of 
humanity,  and  they  will  leave  his  mills  to  rot  in 
idleness." 

He  took  his  hat  from  the  table  and  strode  down 
the  aisle  amid  the  excited  applause  of  his  audience, 
and  went  out,  not  even  once  looking  back.  An 
awkward  silence  followed,  but  it  was  several  mo- 
ments more  before  Philip  braced  himself  to  do  what 
perhaps  was  his  duty.  His  father  depended  on  him, 
and  besides  it  was  a  terrible  conflict,  when  labor  and 
capital  came  to  open  battle  ;  it  ought  to  be  averted. 
Every  eye  was  fixed  on  him  as  he  made  his  way  for- 
ward ;  not  one  there  but  believed  he  was  their  friend. 
Had  he  not  put  on  the  fire  escapes  out  of  his  own 
money  in  spite  of  his  father?  Many  a  whisper  of 
commendation  brought  an  answer  of  hearty  good 
feeling.  One  or  two  of  the  women  in  the  galleries 
actually  said  he  was  handsome. 

"  My  friends,"  he  began,  but  somehow  he  did  not 
care  to  lift  his  eyes  to  meet  the  kind  look  in  the 
trustful  eyes,  '*  I  don't  think  there  is  any  occasion,  I 
mean,  friends  — " 

What  did  he  mean,  he  knew  better  than  they 
what  occasion  there  was.  How  dare  he  ask  them 
10 


1 46  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

to  wait  and  hope,  for  when  had  a  corporation  a  heart 
for  mercy?  He  knew  better  than  they,  that  to-mor- 
row would  be  the  last  day  when  a  strike  would  be 
likely  of  any  effect.  They  might  defeat  his  father's 
scheme  if  nothing  else,  a  scheme  that  would  make 
them  servants  no  longer  of  a  man,  but  of  a  pitiless 
business  principle. 

He  looked  about  the  room  at  last ;  he  read  aright 
the  confidence  in  the  eyes  of  the  company.  He  be- 
lieved he  might  make  them  wait,  but  had  he  a  right 
to  ask  it?  Here  were  a  thousand  souls  in  the  mills, 
impatient  at  injustice,  as  they  thought  it ;  he  could 
offer  them  no  hope,  not  one  straw  ;  his  hands  would 
be  forever  tied  after  to-morrow.  Had  he  a  right  to 
restrain  them  ? 

''  Friends,  I  know  not  what  to  advise  you,  since 
I  am  so  weak  to  help  you."  He  sat  down  and  a 
cheer  rang  loud  and  hearty  to  the  roof,  but  he  felt 
himself  in  an  agonizing  position.  On  the  great 
questions  at  issue  between  the  employers  and  the 
workmen,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  his  mind  was  slow 
in  coming  to  a  conclusion.  He  admitted  most  that 
even  Curran  said,  while  he  listened,  but  what  then, 
how  to  help  it,  was  the  question  he  ever  asked  him- 
self. Surely  nobody  was  profited  by  flying  in  the 
face  of  great  economical  laws.  But  then  what  were 
laws,  and  what  were  fallacies.  Well,  if  he  did  not 
know  what  was  right,  could  he  not  follow  his  father's 


A  NEW  GALATEA.  147 

urgent  wishes  ?  Was  he  making  a  generous  return 
for  the  love  his  father  had  lavished  on  him,  if  he 
should  disobey  him  now?  Well  then  if  he  told  them 
all  he  knew,  it  might  be  fair  for  him  to  ask  them 
to  submit  one  more  day,  but  what  arguments  had 
he  in  that  case  for  them?  As  he  sat  there  his 
vivid  imagination  pictured  the  corporation  in  opera- 
tion. Some  little  injustice  was  being  done,  and  he 
mentions  it  to  the  overseer.  "  Them's  orders,  you 
must  see  the  superintendent."  He  could  see  it  all  so 
plainly.  He  knocks  at  the  superintendent's  door  and 
is  received  with  the  attention  due  the  chief  stock- 
holder's son  ;  he  sees  his  bland  smiling  face,  strange 
but  familiar,  his  sleek  well  paid  smile.  He  speaks 
of  the  rule  which  perhaps  works  to  rob  some  par- 
ticular set  of  hands,  wholly  without  their  fault.  ''  But 
I  have  no  authority  to  change  it,  though  it  does 
seem  hard,  better  see  the  agent.'-  Philip  imagines  his 
discouraged  step,  as  he  makes  his  way  to  the  agent 
to  be  referred  to  a  set  of  indifferent  directors,  who 
**  really  know  nothing  about  the  matter,  but  I  do  not 
feel  like  running  against  the  interests  of  the  stock- 
holders." There  would  be  no  responsible  human 
being  to  listen  to  the  cries  of  the  poor,  who  contrib- 
uted their  meagre  portion  of  the  air  and  sunlight, 
and  all  their  hopes  of  joy  or  rest,  to  be  woven,  no 
doubt,  into  the  matchless  fabric  of  the  Breton  Mills. 
While  Philip  sat  trying  to  grasp  his  duty  of  that 


148  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

moment,  he  became  conscious  that  it  was  very  still, 
and  no  one  seemed  disposed  to  follow  him.  Not  a 
few  impatient  faces  were  turned  askance  toward  him. 
Well,  they  were  afraid  of  him  ;  no  wonder,  if  they 
knew  what  was  passing  in  his  thoughts.  He  rose 
and  crossed  the  room  to  go  out,  but  almost  at  the 
door  he  hesitated.      He  must  say  something. 

"  Perhaps  it  is  not  all  quite  as  plain  as  you  think. 
If  by  higher  wages  or  shorter  hours  you  made  the 
profit  on  the  mills  smaller,  are  you  not  afraid  other 
mills  would  leave  us  behind,  being  able  to  sell 
cheaper,  or  else  the  capital  invested  go  elsewhere, 
where  it  can  make  more  profit  ?  Now  you  get  small 
wages  for  long  hours,  but  in  the  other  cases  you 
might  lose  work  altogether."  Then  he  looked  anx- 
iously around  and  added  hurriedly,  "  Mind,  I  don't 
say  do  this  or  that  ;  I  will  not  ask  anything  of  you. 
But  if  there  is  a  loss  it  will  be  on  you." 

When  he  left  the  hall  he  felt  like  walking  about 
a  little  while,  to  calm  his  mind.  He  chose  the  route 
that  would  lead  past  the  little  tenement  house  where 
they  had  fed  him  with  cold  potatoes.  It  was  only 
a  month  ago.  He  looked  in  through  the  windows. 
The  sick  woman  yet  lay  on  the  sofa,  the  same  soiled 
plaid  shawl  for  her  coverlet ;  there  was  the  same  bare 
deal  table,  and  a  pair  of  dingy  chairs  before  it.  The 
desolation  made  his  heart  sick.  Then  he  looked  up 
at  the  windows  of  the  attic   chamber  where  he  had 


A  NE IV  GA LA  TEA.  I49 

slept  that  other  night.  It  was  all  dark,  but  he  ima- 
gined the  glaring  white  walls,  with  the  queer  little 
block  of  a  looking-glass  hanging  there,  and  the  back- 
less wooden  chair  that  had  to  serve  for  a  wash-stand, 
then  there  was  his  low  bed,  and  the  girl's  shawl  for 
his  counterpane.  What  great  things  he  had  dreamed, 
that  night,  he  should  do  for  the  new  cause  that  had 
fired  his  heart,  new  to  him,  but  old  as  civilization. 
He  turned  away  with  a  pain  in  his  heart,  a  pain  for 
the  wrongs  of  the  millions  of  the  sons  of  toil,  who 
have  never  come  into  their  inheritance.  He  turned 
up  the  road  that  led  to  his  own  home  on  the  hill ;  he 
could  see  the  gleam  of  bright  light  from  his  father's 
study,  where  with  his  smooth-faced  lawyer,  he  was 
perfecting  his  plans  for  the  morrow.  And  then  he 
seemed  to  hear  his  own  words,  and  his  own  tone  as  he 
had  spoken  in  the  meeting,  echoing  oddly  in  his  ear. 
Had  he  undutifully  sacrificed  his  father  to  his  help, 
and  would  it  be  from  his  fault,  th>e  strike  he  feared 
would  come  to-morrow  ?  Could  his  father  point  his 
trembling  fingers  at  him,  when  the  mills  should  stop, 
and  the  prospective  stockholders  decline  the  invest- 
ment to-morrow,  and  say,  "  My  own  son  is  to  blame. 
With  one  word  he  could  have  prevented  it," 

Then  Philip  turned  his  back  to  the  lights  that 
seemed  to  reproach  him  intolerably,  and  walked 
slowly  down  the  hill  again.  Ah  !  what  fear  for  cap- 
ital, it  always  shifts  its  burden  upon  labor. 


1 5  O  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

A  woman's  form  came  quickly  out  of  a  shadow, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm.  It  was  Jane  Graves, 
with  a  shawl  over  her  head,  servant-girl  fashion,  but 
was  it  the  ghastly  effect  of  moonlight  on  her  face 
that  made  it  so  pale? 

"  Wasn't  you  at  Miss  Ellingsworth's  this  even- 
ing?" 

*'  Why,  yes,"  he  looked  at  her  in  astonishment, 
"and  I  was  just  going  there  again." 

''  I  didn't  know  but  she  might  be  with  you.  I 
was  at  my  father's,  and  when  I  came  back,  I  couldn't 
find  her,  and  her  hat  and  shawl  were  gone." 

''  She  has  gone  out  with  her  father,  perhaps," 
suggested  Philip,  startled  more  by  her  manner  than 
her  words. 

"  But  he  has  been  up  at  Mr.  Breton's  all  the 
evening.     And  you  know  she  never  goes  out  alone." 

'■  Sometimes  she  does,"  he  said,  as  he  went  with 
the  girl.  ''  I  met  her  quite  away  from  home  one 
night,  but  she  seemed  a  good  deal  frightened." 

''  When  was  it  ?"  Jane  Graves  stopped  short,  and 
when  he  had  told  her,  a  quick,  involuntary  cry  es- 
caped her  lips,  and  after  that  he  had  almost  to  run 
to  keep  up  with  her. 

Now  and  then  he  tried  to  laugh  at  the  terrors 
this  foolish  servant  girl  had  put  into  his  mind.  But 
could  it  be  Bertha  had  taken  another  evening  walk? 
She  was  too  beautiful  for  the  exposures  of  common 


A  NEW  GALATEA.  IS^ 

life  ;  mankind  was  much  too  weak  to  be  tempted  by 
such  delicious  loveliness  as  hers.  Was  heaven  envi- 
ous of  such  happiness  as  he  had  expected  in  their 
reconciliation  ?  Why  not  strike  him,  then,  and  not 
her  ?  Why,  it  might  have  been  she  had  tried  to  over- 
take him,  to  call  him.  back.  "  Hurry  faster,"  he  mut- 
tered, catching  the  girl's  arm  roughly. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

Class  Prejudice. 

BUT  the  house  looked  so  sedate,  and  altogether 
respectable,  that  it  seemed  impossible  but  that 
everything  was  as  usual  inside.  The  door  stood 
invitingly  open,  as  it  should  on  such  a  balmy  sum- 
mer evening,  the  light  streaming  bountifully  out  on 
the  walk.  A  catastrophe  surely  would  have  left 
some  sign,  some  fatal  mark  somewhere  to  curdle 
one's  blood  from  afar.  How  foolish  of  this  black- 
eyed  maid  and  him,  to  rush  at  the  top  of  their  speed, 
in  an  agony  of  suspense,  only  to  find  Bertha  sitting 
at  the  parlor  table,  mild  eyed  and  serene  as  he  had 
used  to  know  her.  She  had  only  stepped  across  the 
street,  perhaps. 

How  she  would  wonder  to  see  him  hurrying  in 
his  unreasonable  fear,  into  her  presence,  but  he 
would  pour  into  her  ears  such  a  torrent  of  words  of 
love,  that  she  would  bless  him  a  thousand  times  that 
he  had  come  back,  and  their  happiness  would  date 
from  to-night.  Perhaps  she  had  tender  confidences 
for  him,  too,  of  how  wonderfully  she  had  grown  into 
the  love  he  had  longed  for,  and  she  would  whisper  to 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  I  53 

him  that  the  few  weeks  of  estrangement  had  been  a 
blessing  of  God  for  her,  and  he  need  never  again  com- 
plain of  the  coldness  of  her  love.  Life  is  not  so  serious 
and  tragical  an  affair  as  one  sometimes  thinks  ;  things 
don't  always  plunge  into  the  ruin  they  are  pointed 
toward. 

By  the  time  Philip  stepped  into  the  door,  he  had 
fully  discounted  his  expected  relief;  indeed,  had 
almost  persuaded  himself  that  he  had  had  no  mis- 
givings, there  seemed  so  little  sense  in   misgivings. 

But  he  did  not  find  the  blue-eyed  womian  he  loved 
at  her  parlor  table.  He  looked  for  a  crochet  needle 
or  a  square  of  canvas,  which  might  show  the  marks  of 
recent  work  ;  but  the  round  table  was  in  perfect 
order.  The  little  book-shaped  card  basket  stood 
near  the  bronze  base  of  the  drop  lamp.  A  large  red 
morocco  bound  volume,  called  "  The  Dresden  Gal- 
lery," was  tilted  up  a  little  by  a  blue  and  gold  book 
of  Swinburne's  poems,  on  which  it  had  been  laid. 
The  gracefully  carved  book-rack  was  full,  all  but  one 
space  the  volume  of  poems  might  have  fitted  into. 

"  Just  as  I  arranged  it  after  tea,"  said  Jane  Graves, 
moving  uneasily  about. 

"  For  heaven's  sake  -be  still,"  he  exclaimxcd.  He 
stepped  out  into  the  hall. 

"  Why,  here  is  her  shawl,"  he  said,  with  a  light- 
ened heart. 

**  It  is  her  heavy  shawl  that   is  gone,"  the  girl 


I  54  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

looked  peculiarly  at  him  when  she  added  almost  under 
her  breath,  "  the  one  she  takes  on  evening  drives." 

Philip  shot  a  glance  of  sudden  intelligence  at  her, 
and  terrible  suggestions  and  recollections  came 
crowding  their  hateful  meanings  upon  him.  The 
mad  blood  seemed  congesting  about  his  heart,  and 
yet  his  face  blazed  like  fire.  '*  Good  God !  "  he 
shouted  hoarsely,  ''  if  you  dare  to  breathe  it,  I  will 
choke  the  envious  life  out  of  you."  Then  he  caught 
the  bell  knob  at  the  door  and  rang  it  fiercely,  and 
then  again,  before  its  echoes  had  ceased,  and  again 
and  again. 

''  And  is  there  another  fire,  your  honor  ?  " 

The  broad-faced  chambermaid  had  come  up  from 
the  kitchen,  and  stood  with  arms  a-kimbo,  trying  to 
make  her  rich  Irish  voice  heard  above  the  sounding 
gong. 

"  Do  you  know  where  your  mistress  is  ?  " 

''  No-a  ;  if  she  be  not  inside,  indade." 

"  Didn't  she  go  over  to  a  neighbor's  somewhere  ?  " 
questioned  Philip,  eagerly. 

"  Not  that  I  knows  on,  sir." 

"Has  anybody  been  here?  Didn't  you  tend 
door,  you  ninny  !  " 

"  The  bell  didn't  ring  till  now,  sir  ;  but  lave  me 
think  a  bit,"  and  the  woman  rubbed  her  head  medi- 
tatively. 

"  Quick,"  cried  Philip,  between  hope  and  fear. 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  155 

*'  Don't  scare  me,  sir,  or  I  can't  do  nothink." 

He  moved  his  feet  restlessly  on  the  inlaid  hall 
floor  ;  and  he  had  bowed  his  head  as  if  studying  the 
artist's  design;  but  it  was  for  fear  he  should  catch 
some  terrible  significance  in  Jane  Graves'  black  eyes. 
He  could  hear  her  dress  rustle  ;  he  knew  she  was  look- 
ing at  him.  waiting  for  him  to  lift  his  face  ;  but  he 
would  not  have  met  her  eyes  at  that  moment  for 
all  the  world. 

"  Yis,  there  was  a  rumblin'  team  come  up,  and  I 
thought  I  hearn  a  man  come  to  the  dure  and  thin 
go  back  ;  but  the  bell  didn't  ring,  sir,  and  I  didn't 
make  no  count  on  it.  No  sir,  I  hevn't  hearn  missus 
movin'  roun'  sence,  and  I  knows  she  be  all  over  the 
house  before." 

The  creature's  tongue  was  unloosed  and  she  kept 
on  talking,  but  Philip  had  bounded  up  the  broad 
stairs  and  thrown  open  the  door  of  the  room  he 
thought  was  Bertha's. 

In  another  moment  the  gas  blazed  up  to  the  ceil- 
ing and  he  stood,  wild-eyed,  looking  from  side  to 
side  as  if  he  thought  to  find  a  heart-breaking  story 
written  all  over  the  gold  papered  walls.  Then 
his  eyes  became  fixed  on  the  black  walnut  bureau 
with  its  long  mirror  coming  down  through  the  cen- 
tre. On  the  marble  slab  at  the  foot  of  the  mirror  he 
saw  a  satin  covered  handkerchief  case ;  and  pinned 
into  it  — 


1 5  6  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

In  three  steps  he  had  clutched  a  little  perfumed 
note,  with  a  ribbon  fastened  on  it  as  if  for  a  signal,* 
a  delicate  bow  of  white  ribbon.  Mr.  Ellingsworth's 
name  was  written  on  it.  It  was  all  here,  and  yet  he 
hesitated  a  moment  as  a  man  would  hesitate  to  cut 
off  a  maimed  and  poisoned  limb.  And  it  was  almost 
unconsciously  at  last  that  his  nervous  fingers  tore 
the  note  open  and  let  the  bit  of  white  ribbon  flutter 
to  the  floor.  He  seemed  to  read  very  slowly  and 
the  flush  faded  from  his  face  and  left  it  very  calm. 
There  could  be  nothing  very  thrilling  written  there 
surely.  But  every  line  and  curve  was  branded  for- 
ever on  his  heart. 

"  I  have  gone  with  Curran.  I  knew  I  could  not 
stand  your  reproaches,  but  I  can  only  be  happy  with 
the  man  I  love.  Society  will  disown  me.  He  is 
more  to  me  than  them  all.     Bertha." 

He  crushed  the  bit  of  paper  in  his  hand,  and 
looked  up  to  see  Jane  Graves  standing  in  the  door- 
way, pale  as  death.  Beside  her  stood  the  red- cheeked 
chambermaid,  speechless  again,  this  time  with  aston- 
ishment to  see  the  young  man  make  so  free  in  her 
mistress'  chamber. 

"  Gone  with  Curran,  oh  yes,  it  is  all  written  out. 
Well,  that  is  a  joke  ;  a  man  who  don't  wear  cuffs,  and 
Bertha  loves  him  !  Why,  I  never  could  dress  to  suit 
her."  And  he  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  burst 
into  convulsions  of  laughter  till  the  tears  came. 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  I  5/ 

"Well,  there  may  be  something  else,"  and  he 
stepped  jauntily  up  to  the  bureau  again. 

"  Certainly,  a  jewel  box  with  my  name  on  it ;  oh  ! 
to  be  sure,  our  engagement  ring."  He  held  it  up  to 
catch  the  sparkle  of  the  solitaire  diamond.  "  Yes, 
yes,  a  very  proper  and  delicate  spirit.  I  wasn't  mis- 
taken in  Bertha,  she  always  had  a  nice  sense  of  pro- 
priety." 

He  came  a  little  unsteadily  toward  the  two 
women.  Jane  Graves  was  pale  and  still  as  death,  with 
her  two  little  hands  pressed  tightly  upon  her  bosom. 
Philip  wondered  impatiently  what  was  the  matter 
with  the  girl.  If  he  could  treat  the  whole  wretched 
business  like  a  huge  joke,  what  the  deuce  was  the 
use  of  her  playing  tragedy  queen  over  it  ?  What 
child's  play  life's  solemnest  woes  and  failures  are, 
after  all  a  man's  dread  of  them  1  It  is  mixing  up  flesh 
and  blood  with  them,  spoils  their  grand  effects  ;  men 
and  women  are  only  fit  for  the  cheapest  kind  of  low 
comedy.  How  it  must  amuse  the  immortal  gallery 
gods,  when  a  m^an  attempts  to  sustain  the  tragedy 
pitch  in  his  experiences.  If  one  can  only  get  the 
true  point  of  view,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  noble 
situation,  a  glorious  victory  or  a  desperate  dilemma. 
The  dignity  of  sorrow  is  a  ridiculous  misnomer. 
Everything  is  only  more  or  less  funny  according  to 
its  pretentiousness — for  example  the  astonishing 
denouement  of  his  love  episode. 


158  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Now  Norah  the  chambermaid,  with  a  face  like  a 
pumpkin,  and  eyes  that  stuck  out  Hke  saucers,  say 
of  the  cheap  blue  kind,  was  a  suitable  lay  figure  for 
such  an  occasion. 

"  Why  here,  Norah,  this  is  really  a  very  good 
diamond.  I  bought  it  for  the  best,  permit  me  to 
present  it  to  you.  Bertha,  your  late  mistress  I  mean 
— was  a  large  woman,  no  doubt  you  can  wear  it  over 
your  little  finger.  Consider  it  as  a  reminder  of  this 
charming  evening.  Ah,  let  me  put  it  on,  you  are 
not  used  to  jewels — thus.  Now,  my  love,  you  may- 
run  down  stairs  and  show  your  pretty  present.'' 

He  turned  his  strangely  bright  eyes  to  the  wall 
at  the  foot  of  Bertha's  bed. 

''  My  picture,  too.  How  the  girl's  heart  must 
have  glowed  night  and  morning  over  it."  He  took 
it  down  and  held  it  before  him  a  moment. 

''  A  foolish  face,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth, 
the  wild  merriment  fading  out  of  his  features.  He 
bent  and  laid  the  picture  glass  upwards  on  the  floor, 
then  he  ground  it  viciously  beneath  the  heel  of  his 
boot,  and  walked  away  without  deigning  to  cast 
another  look  at  it. 

Bertha's  pure  bed,  which  her  graceful  form  had 
pressed  so  many  years — an  inscrutable  awe  crept  over 
him  ;  it  seemed  impious  to  look,  he  fell  on  his  knees 
and  buried  his  hot  face  in  the  pillow  where  he  fancied 
her  head  had  rested. 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  1 59 

"  Oh,  my  lost  darling,  my  lost  Bertha,  you  have 
taken  all  the  joy  and  hope  of  my  life  with  you,"  and 
his  slight  frame  shook  with  tearless  sobs,  like  the 
death  throes  of  a  breaking  heart. 

Then  he  rose  in  bitterness  of  soul  to  his  feet. 
Was  there  no  way  to  drown  the  deep  settled  pain 
about  his  breast  ?  Were  there  no  other  women  in 
the  world?  He  had  heard  times  enough,  there  was 
no  salve  for  a  broken  heart  so  quick  and  sure  as  an- 
other woman's  kisses. 

He  almost  stumbled  over  Jane  Graves,  who  lay 
across  the  threshold  in  a  dead  faint.  It  was  but  the 
work  of  a  moment  to  bend  over  her,  and  lift  her  in 
his  arms.  But  he  would  not  let  her  lie  on  Bertha's 
bed,  no,  not  to  save  her  life,  and  he  bore  her  through 
the  hall  to  another  chamber.  It  was  a  slight  girlish 
form  he  held  and  need  not  have  been  so  unpleasant 
a  burden.  But  he  laid  her  down  on  the  first  rest- 
ing place  he  could  find,  and  lifted  her  feet  with  deli- 
cate gentleness  on  the  bed.  He  removed  the  high 
pillows  from  under  her  head,  so  that  she  could 
breathe  more  easily,  and,  true  gentleman  that  he  was, 
covered  her  pretty  feet  and  ankles  with  some  light 
wrap. 

A  green  tinted  cologne  bottle  stood  near  by  and 
he  bethought  himself  to  dash  the  cool  contents  into 
her  face,  and  felt  quite  a  doctor's  surprise  to  see  any 
good  result  follow  his  ministrations.     The  banished 


l6o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

blood  stole  slowly  back  into  her  olive  cheeks.  He 
bent  over  her  and  lifted  her  shapely  little  hands,  as 
dainty  as  a  princess',  and  tried  to  arrange  them  in 
some  graceful  position.  She  would  know  how  to  do 
it  the  instant  she  opened  her  eyes  ;  he  could  think 
of  nothing  only  as  she  had  stood  at  the  door  of 
Bertha's  room  ;  so  he  crossed  her  hands  lightly 
over  her  bosom  that  was  beginning  to  pant  in  re- 
turning consciousness.  How  pretty  she  was  ;  if 
her  lips  were  a  little  full  that  was  a  very  pardonable 
fault. 

It  was  very  odd  her  fainting  out  of  sympathy 
with  his  sufferings.  Not  impossibly  the  little  maid 
might  have  a  soft  spot  in  her  heart  for  him.  A  sudden 
mad  thought  warmed  his  blood  ;  why  not  wait  till 
she  opened  her  eyes,  this  charming  little  girl,  and 
then,  swear  to  her  that  he  loved  her.  What  was  love 
then  that  such  a  pretty  face  and  form  as  this  should 
not  have  it  ?  She  was  no  cold  woman  :  her  kisses  and 
endearments — but  his  eyes  had  grown  cold  and  hard 
while  he  looked  at  her.  If  she  were  a  Cleopatra  she 
could  be  nothing  to  him,  her  kisses  would  only  stifle 
him  with  their  passion  ;  her  clinging  soft  arms  about 
his  neck  would  only  strangle  him.  He  knew  to  his 
sorrow  what  it  was  to  love,  and  no  pretty  sham,  no 
matter  how  its  voluptuous  artifices  made  his  hot 
blood  surge  through  his  veins,  could  still  for  one 
moment  the  immortal  longing  it  only  mocked.     She 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  l6l 

moved  a  little  as  she  lay ;  and  he  started  and  went 

out. 

The  girl's  eyes  opened  slowly  on  the  rich  blue 
lambrequins,  and  the  rare  frescoing  of  the  room. 
She  vaguely  wondered  for  one  delicious  moment  if 
she  awoke  some  rich  gentleman's  wife,  and  her  old 
life  of  poverty  was  past  forever.  Why,  she  was  in 
Mr.  Ellingsworth's  bed  chamber;  how  came  she 
here  ?  And  her  hair  was  wet ;  and  the  ruffles  on  her 
neck  were  damp— it  was  cologne.  Then  she  remem- 
bered everything,  and  rose  from  the  august  couch 
she  had  unworthily  pressed.  She  laid  back  the 
great  pillows  and  tried  to  smooth  out  the  outlines 
of  her  form  on  the  spotless  counterpane,  and  then 
made  her  way  down  stairs.  The  house  was  so  still 
it  frightened  her;  it  was  as  if  everybody  in  the 
world  had  died  while  she  lay  in  her  faint.  The  hall 
below  was  empty  too,  and  the  outer  door  shut.  As 
she  passed  she  brushed  against  Bertha's  light  shawl, 
the  one  that  had  relieved  Philip  Breton's  fears  when 
he  saw  it.  She  opened  the  parlor  door  ;  she  felt  as 
if  she  must  find  somebody  to  ease  the  tension  of  her 

nerves. 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  sat  with  his  head  bowed  on  his 
hands  ;  he  knew  it  all ;  his  home  was  desolated,  his 
pride  outraged.  At  the  noise  he  uncovered  his  face 
for  a  moment  and  looked  up  ;  and  the  cruel  light 
falling  on  his  distressed  face  revealed  the  marks 
11 


1 62  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

of  age  his  tranquil  course  of  life  and  selfish  and 
complacent  philosophy  had  so  long  softened  and 
covered.  He  saw  the  graceful  figure  of  his  maid  in 
a  pretty  attitude  of  hesitation  on  his  pleasure.  He 
was  alone  in  the  world  but  for  her,  deserted  in  his 
own  home  only  for  her. 

"Come  here,  Jennie,"  he  said  in  a  broken  voice. 

She  came  into  the  room,  and  a  few  steps  toward 
him.  Then  she  stopped.  Her  face  was  almost  as 
pale  as  when  she  fainted,  but  her  black  eyes  shone 
with  unusual  feverish  brilliancy. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  dear." 

The  girl  started,  and  half  turned  as  if  to  escape. 
Then  strange  thoughts  darted  through  her  brain.  A 
warm,  red  flush  mounted  from  her  neck,  and  spread 
itself  in  tingling  waves  of  shame  to  the  very  roots  of 
her  black  hair.  She  came  up  to  him,  and  reached  out 
her  little  hand.  He  pressed  it  gently,  then  he  laid 
it  against  his  cheek.  Her  heart  bounded  in  sudden 
revolt,  but  she  controlled  herself  with  an  effort  of 
sheer  will,  and  did  not  move,  but  her  startled  eyes 
sought  the  floor.  And  so  this  was  her  proud  master. 
But  what  harm  if  he  wanted  to  be  foolish  and  senti- 
mental ?  it  was  no  matter  to  anybody  now,  no  one 
cared  for  her  unkissed  lips. 

"  Jennie,"  he  said  at  last,  ''come   nearer  to  me." 

And  she  kneeled  by  his  chair,  in  a  sudden  im- 
pulse she  dared   not  define,  not  yet.      She  put  her 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  1 63 

Other  hand  in  his,  and  Hfted  her  dark,  wet  eyes  to  his 
face.  But  the  cold  man  of  philosophy  and  subtle 
analysis  was  transfigured,  and  she  was  suddenly 
afraid  of  the  spirit  she  had  evoked.  The  next  mo- 
ment he  looked  in  sudden  terror  at  her  face,  in  which 
reckless  daring  and  maidenly  timidity  were  blended 
into  the  most  bewitching  and  tantalizing  of  effects. 
Then  he  bent  down  to  the  upturned  face,  that  never 
flinched,  and  in  another  instant  he  held  in  his  arms 
her  form  that  seemed  to  shrink  only  that  he  must 
clasp  her  the  closer. 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife,  Jennie  ?  I  never  loved  a 
woman  as  I  do  you.     Will  you  be  my  wife,  Jennie  ?'' 

''  Yes,"  whispered  the  red  lips  that  never  once 
turned  away  from  his  thick  raining  kisses. 

In  Bertha  EUingsworth's  own  parlor,  it  waS;  with 
her  mother's  face  looking  down  from  the  painted 
canvas,  in  the  room  where  the  daughter  of  the  house 
had  so  coldly  entertained  the  heir  of  the  Breton 
Mills.  Ah  !  yes,  and  where  she  had  taught  Curran,  the 
prophet  of  the  poor,  to  love  her,  and  she  the  very  es- 
sence of  the  spirit  he  taught  them  to  hate.  But  how 
her  proud  face  would  wince  now  !  If  she  were  only 
here  !  Her  father,  the  haughtiest  of  men,  to  every- 
body in  the  great  world  beneath  him  cold  as  an  ice- 
berg, they  said,  arrogant  as  any  duke  of  courtly 
circle,  could  it  be  he  praying,  with  hot  breath,  the 
love  and  the  hand  of  his  servant  maid  !     Could  it  be 


164  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

he  holding  her  so  fondly  in  his  arms,  where  he  might 
have  gathered  coy  dames  of  the  stateHest  rank,  lav- 
ishing honeyed  words  and  mad  endearments  on  his 
poor  servant  girl,  whose  only  nice  dress  it  was  he  was 
crushing  so  recklessly  !  Ah  !  it  was  Vv-orth  the  cost, 
if  she  had  to  tear  her  heart  out,  for  all  that  wealth 
can  buy  will  be  hers. 

She  nestles  her  burning  face  on  his  shoulder,  and 
tempts  him  to  new  caresses  and  new  words  of  folly, 
that  he  may  not  remember  yet  what  a  strange  thing 
it  is  he  is  doing  ;  that  he  may  not  think  of  repenting 
until  his  enthralled  senses  shall  let  him  forget  every- 
thins:  else,  rather  than  this  sweet  hour.  She  will 
now  be  able  to  comfort  and  restore  her  dying 
mother,  give  her  tired  father  rest,  and  show  them 
both  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as  happiness  in  life, 
even  for  them.  Her  wildest  dreams  are  realized. 
She  will  be  one  of  the  rich  and  the  great,  whom  the 
rest  of  the  world  bow  down  to.  She  will  make  her 
husband's — yes,  this  man  is  to  be  her  husband,  why 
should  she  be  ashamed  with  him — she  will  make 
his  friends  all  envy  him  his  beautiful  wife,  and  as  for 
their  faded,  fashionable  women,  with  limp  backs,  and 
bloodless  veins,  how  it  will  please  her  to  study  the 
signs  of  jealousy  on  their  listless  faces.  And  Ber- 
tha Ellingsworth's  proud,  false  heart  will  ache  with 
shame  over  the  low-born  woman  whom  her  father 
has  made  his  wife.   Curran  had  scorned  her^  now  she 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  1 65 

could  scorn  the  woman  he  had  preferred  to  her,  and 
with  wealth,  how  countless  the  means  of  revenge  ! 
The  poor  can  only  kill,  if  they  hate,  the  rich  can  tor- 
ture and  crucify  alive. 

"Has  the  train  gone  for  the  west?"  asked  a 
breathless  voice  at  the  Lockout  station. 

''  It's  thirty  minutes  behind  its  time,"  growled 
the  ticket  agent.  It  was  Philip  Breton,  who  went 
back  to  the  post  to  tie  his  horse  more  securely. 
"Poor  Joe,  poor  old  boy,"  the  big  white  horse  seemed 
more  like  to  fall  dead  in  his  tracks  than  to  try  to 
break  away.  ''  A  pretty  hard  gallop,  wasn't  it,  Joe, 
your  breath  will  come  easier  in  a  minute,  old  horse." 

His  time  was  precious,  but  he  lingered  in  an  un- 
controllable terror  of  what  he  had  come  so  far  to  see. 
He  had  thought  he  wanted  to  make  sure.  There 
might  be  some  mistake  in  the  note,  or  even  nov/,  if 
she  had  changed  her  mind — but  it  was  all  folly,  he 
saw  it  now.  He  had  forgotten  all  reason  in  one  wild 
longing  to  see  Bertha  again.  But  what  was  the  use 
of  harrowing  up  his  soul  with  new  pictures  he  would 
pray  God  in  vain  to  wipe  out  of  his  memory  ?  But 
he  had  come  so  far,  perhaps  it  would  do  no  harm  to 
look  at  her  once  more,  and  who  knows?  strange 
things  have  happened  in  this  world.  He  had  turned 
and  was  walking  along  the  platform,  toward  the 
ladies'  waiting-room.  He  glanced  up  the  long  stretch 
of  straight  track  and   saw  in  the   distance  the  head- 


1 66  THE  BRETON  MILL S. 

light  of  the  engine,  which  seemed  to  him  a  pitiless 
monster,  hastening  on  to  seize  his  darHng  and  bear 
her  to  some  hopeless  region  of  eternal  night.  He 
must  hurry.  Who  knows  ?  it  might  be  fate  had  kept 
her  rescue  till  this  moment,  and  meant  him  to  save 
her.  He  pushed  the  waiting-room  door  open.  The 
seats  appeared  all  vacant  and  expectant ;  a  big  russet 
apple  had  been  dropped  on  one  of  them  by  some  in- 
terrupted traveler,  and  in  another  place  the  carpet 
upholstery  was  specked  with  the  white  litter  of  a 
cracker  and  cheese  luncheon.  The  whole  atmos- 
phere was  too  commonplace  for  a  pair  of  runaway 
lovers.  Philip  took  two  or  three  steps  into  the  room, 
but  it  was  only  as  he  turned  to  go  back,  that  he  saw 
the  settees  were  not  quite  deserted. 

It  was  a  group  for  a  painter's  loftiest  genius,  but 
the  artist  must  have  a  faith  in  love,  such  as  the 
world  have  learned  to  scoff.  The  figure  of  the  man 
may  embody  strength  and  dignity,  in  unconscious 
perfection,  it  is  bent  now  in  a  beautiful  protective 
attitude  toward  the  woman  whose  head  rests  on 
his  shoulder.  Her  lips  are  parted  to  reveal  the 
pearty  gleam  of  her  white  teeth,  but  she  does  not 
smile.  She  has  golden  hair  like  a  crown  sitting  well 
down  on  the  broad  forehead,  and  there  is  the  tint  of 
red  gold  in  her  cheeks  like  a  perpetual  glow  of  sun- 
set. But  what  painter  can  catch  the  holy  tenderness 
in  the  eyes  that  drink  in  her  unsullied  beauty,  the 


CLASS  PREJUDICE.  1 6/ 

breathless  wonder,  the  rapt  mystery  in  his  softened 
face?  What  inspired  brush  can  picture  the  quiver 
of  the  long  golden  lashes  against  her  cheek,  and  then 
the  dreamy  stirring  of  the  eyelids  that  now  open 
wide,  so  his  impassioned  gaze  may  thrill  the  liquid 
depths  of  blue.  Let  the  artist  fix  then  forever  if  he 
can — the  smile  that  ripples  at  last  over  her  fascinated 
face,  a  smile  of  trust  too  perfect  for  shame. 

What  was  that  sound  so  like  a  human  sob,  that 
startled  the  lovers  from  each  other's  arms  ?  Why,  it 
almost  made  them  sob  for  sympathy,  as  if  it  came 
from  a  broken  heart.  Who  ever  heard  the  wind 
moan  like  that,  so  short  and  sharp  it  was  ?  But  it 
must  have  been  the  wind,  for  they  were  quite  alone. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  Mill-Owner  s  Triumph. 

THE  grey  mists  broke  and  the  eastern  clouds 
blushed  red  at  the  coming  of  the  most  ardent 
lover  in  the  universe.  His  fruitful  bride,  earth,  smiled 
her  glad,  welcome  up  to  him,  but  gave  place  to  set- 
tled peace  and  love  as  the  early  hours  went  by.  But 
it  was  the  saddest  day  of  Philip  Breton's  life,  so  ter- 
rible a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  upon  him  out  of  the 
clear  sky. 

A  woman's  hand  had  struck  him  ;  and  he  had 
looked  to  her  for  all  the  most  precious  experi- 
ences of  life.  Humiliation  might  have  stirred 
in  some  hearts  a  blessed  reaction  to  relieve  their 
aching  consciousness  of  loss  ;  but  the  blow  to  his 
love  and  his  hopes  was  so  much  heavier  than  the 
hurt  of  his  pride  that  he  did  not  think  to  be  in- 
sulted, he  was  only  overwhelmed.  Other  men  and 
perhaps  sometimes  a  woman  must  have  met  with 
such  misfortunes ;  Philip  wondered  curiously  how 
they  managed  to  endure  them  ;  but  they  could 
not  have  lost  one  like  Bertha  ;  she  could  have  no 
exact  counterpart  to  ruin  other  men's  lives.     There 


THE  MILL-OWNER- S  TRIUMPH.  169 

could  be  no  escape  for  him  ;  he  had  been  so  simple 
to  -ive  his  whole  heart  to  a  woman  before  he  had 
married  her;  to  teach  every  taste  to  incline  toward 
her-  to  suffer  every  little  rill  of  tenderness  and  wor- 
ship in  his  being  to  pour  into  his  ideal  of  her.  And 
all  his  plans  touched  her  somewhere  ;  and  all  his 
thoughts,  even  such  as  she  never  could  understand, 
wound  about  her  personality  as  he  conceived  of  it  at 
some  point  in  their  processes.  And  now  every  hour 
of  his  life  must  be  embittered  by  some  reminder  o 
what  he  had  hoped  for  and  lost.  The  balmy  south 
wind  that  morning  was  like  her  breath;  the  soft 
murmur  of  the  water,  in  the  raceway  below  the  mill 
was  like  her  voice  ;  a  blonde  face  looked  down  from 
one  of  the  windows  of  the  weave  room,  there  was  a 
flitting  expression  on  it  like  Bertha.     And  so  it  must 

be  forever.  ,, 

At  the  head  of  his  counting-room  table  sat  Mr 
Breton,  smiling  and  bland.     Before  him  were  piled 
the  heavy  tomes  containing  the  records  of  his  great 
manufactory ;  by  his  side  stood  two  clerks  to  assist 
in  handling  and  explaining  them.     Around  the  table 
attentive  and  eager,  were  gathered  as  many  as  could 
get  there,  of  shrewd,  hard  business  men.     A  dozen 
more   of  the  same  unmistakable  species,  stood  about 
the  room  and  leaned  against  the  windows,  quiet  and 
observant,  listening  to  all  that  could  throw  any  light 
on  the  matter  under  discussion.    It  was  the  moment- 


170  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

ous  meeting  of  the  prospective  stockholders  in  the 
corporation  looming  up  in  magnificent  proportions 
before  their  fancies. 

The  paymaster  and  the  attorney  stood  at  hand 
apt  with  suggestions  ;  one  of  them  had  the  smile  born 
of  fond  hopes  of  unlimited  fees  ;  but  the  other  an 
awkward  fretted  air  at  the  sudden  change  from  one 
to  so  many  superiors.  The  mill-owner  was  detailing 
to  this  most  interested  audience  the  history  of  the 
flourishing  industry  he  desired  to  enlist  them  in, 
and  their  eyes  shone  eagerly  at  the  prospect  of  buy- 
ing such  stock  at  par.  They  imagined  their  thou- 
sands doubling  on  their  hands  in  such  an  investment, 
doubling  without  an  effort  of  theirs,  doubling  in  spite 
of  their  idleness,  which  added  never  one  stroke  of 
theirs  to  the  sum  of  the  muscular  force  that  fur- 
nished the  wealth  of  the  world.  Their  dollars  would 
double  in  five  or  six  years,  whether  they  were  sick 
or  well,  virtuous  or  vicious,  even  if  they  violated 
the  most  sacred  laws  of  society.  They  rubbed 
their  bald,  shining  heads  in  dignified  delight.  Ah, 
but  isn't  it  fine  to  be  rich,  with  no  care  but  to  invest 
one's  money  and  count  the  income  the  inert  gold  can 
breed  ?  Isn't  it  beautiful  to  have  laws  that  look  out 
so  well  for  those  who  pay  most  of  the  taxes  ?  To  be 
sure  the  laws  seem  to  bear  hard  on  the  poor  ;  they 
find  it  pretty  slow  getting  a  start,  but  of  course  if 
everybody  was  rich,  why,  nobody  would  be.     And 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRIUMPH.  I7I 

the  same  set  of  laws  and  the  same  principles  of  gov- 
ernment could  not  possibly  help  the  poor  get  large 
profits  from  their  labor,  and  also  enrich  the  capitalists 
so  rapidly  out  of  the  labor  of  the  poor.  And  then 
what  a  comfort  it  is  to  feel  no  fear  that  the  laws  may 
change,  no  matter  how  loud  the  lower  classes  com- 
plain and  storm.  The  rich  can  work  upon  the  very 
poverty  which  seeks  relief  against  the  tyranny  of 
capital,  to  entrench  themselves  ;  for  the  neediest  of 
voters  and  legislators  must  naturally  be  the  most 
easily  moved  by  the  golden  favors  the  rich  only  can 
hold  out. 

But  what  could  possess  Breton  to  make  this 
change?  Was  he  rich  enough  ?  Absurd  !  who  ever 
was  rich  enough?  Perhaps  there  was  some  flaw 
somewhere,  and  this  cunning  lawyer  knew  all  about  it. 
They  must  not  let  themselves  be  fooled,  so  they  lis- 
tened with  still  quickened  attention,  and  waded  sus- 
piciously into  one  after  another  of  the  big  ledgers, 
for  a  few  pages,  to  ferret  out  the  secret. 

"  The  gentlemen  may  ask,"  Mr.  Giddings,  the 
lawyer,  had  noticed  the  puzzled  expression  on  their 
shrewd  faces,  "  why  Mr.  Breton  makes  this  offer. 
From  the  amount  of  stock  we  propose  to  issue,  it 
ought  to  be  clear  enough,"  and  he  laid  his  fat  finger 
in  the  palm  of  his  left  hand.  ''  He  proposes  to  keep 
just  as  big  an  interest  here,  as  ever,  but  the  plan  is 
to  make  these  mills,  as  they  shall  be  extended,  gen- 


1 7  2  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

tlemen,  as  they  shall  be  extended,  the  most  stupen- 
dous manufacturing  enterprise  in  the  country  ;  for 
that  there  must  be  more  capital,  and  you  are  invited 
to  join." 

Philip  had  but  little  to  say  to  the  unwelcome  vis- 
itors, whose  carriages,  of  all  varieties  of  elegance, 
lined  the  road-side  without.  He  moved  about 
among  them,  more  like  a  stranger  than  the  least 
pretentious  of  them  all. 

"  EUingsworth,  Mr.  Ellingsworth,"  called  Mr.  Bre- 
ton, "  why,  he  was  with  me  only  last  night.  Can  he 
be  sick  ?" 

Yes,  sick  with  shame,  and  Philip  thought  how 
quickly  the  flush  of  pride  would  fade  out  of  his  fath- 
er's pleased  face,  if  he  knew — knew  that  his  own  son, 
the  heir  of  his  millions,  had  been  discarded  at  last 
by  the  girl  he  had  already  taken  into  .a  daughter's 
place  in  his  heart.  And  it  was  this  same  man  Philip 
had  defended  and  argued  for,  that  had  struck  his 
deadliest  blows  at  the  mills,  and  now  thrust  his  knife 
into  the  very  home  of  the  rich  man.  It  would  em- 
bitter the  father's  life,  when  he  came  to  know  of  the 
broken  heart  his  boy  must  bear  forever — but  he  need 
not  know  just  yet. 

Now  and  then  the  young  man  went  out  into  the 
hall  for  a  clear  view  of  the  massive  mills,  and  glanced 
fearfully  along  their  front,  and  listened.  But  the 
roar  of  the  machinery  did  not  abate,  and  through  the 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRIUMPH.  1 73 

jail-like  windows  he  could  see  the  tireless  men  and 
women  forms  stepping  backward  and  forward,  raising 
and  lowering  their  hands  at  the  tasks  that  had  ush- 
ered in  their  cheerless  youth,  and  were  wearing  out 
their  tedious  lives.  Very  likely  there  would  be  no 
trouble  ;  could  it  be  they  had  been  influenced  by  his 
words  ?  God  forbid  that  any  such  responsibility 
should  rest  on  him.  Once,  a  man  appeared  at  a 
door.  Philip's  heart  stopped  beating  for  an  in- 
stant ;  he  thought  him  the  first  of  a  long  line  that 
would  now  rush  forth  from  their  prison.  But  the 
man  only  stood  listlessly  a  moment  as  if  there  was 
absolutely  nothing  of  importance  on  his  mind,  and 
then  went  back.     So  Philip  returned  to  the  office. 

"  Is  that  Breton's  son,  that  young  man  who 
looks  so  pale?  He  don't  seem  to  take  much  interest 
in  this  business." 

''  I've  always  noticed  business  talent  wears  out  in 
one  generation.  The  father  earns  and  saves  for  the 
son  to  spend." 

"  True  for  you,"  said  a  third,  apparently  of  Irish 
birth.  ^'  Well,  we  won't  want  the  boy's  services  when 
the  old  man  dies." 

"  Hush,  Breton  is  talking." 

"  And,  gentlemen,  I  have  never  known  a  strike 
here,  though  I  certainly  don't  pay  any  more  wages 
than  my  neighbors."  There  was  a  slight  noise  of 
something  falling   outside   and    Philip  hurried   out. 


174  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

The  mill  yard  was  as  quiet  as  on  Sunday  ;  not  a  soul 
in  the  whole  village  apparently  who  thought  of  a 
strike  but  him.  And  whether  he  feared  most  an 
outbreak  or  a  day  of  peace,  he  could  not  have  told. 

"  I  wonder  how  the  help  will  like  the  change," 
suggested  a  white-haired  old  gentleman,  with  a  grim 
smile. 

''  These  corporations  are  the  neatest  device  of  the 
century  for  a  gagging  machine.  What  the  devil's  the 
use  of  the  help  grumbling,  when  there  is  nobody  they 
can  find  to  blame,  only  a  fiction  of  law.  The  over- 
seers and  the  agent,  and  each  particular  stockholder 
is,  oh,  awfully  sorry,  you  know,  but  nobody  can  help 
anything,  that  is  unless  they  want  to,"  the  speaker 
winked  so  slyly,  they  all  had  to  laugh  and  wipe 
their  shining  foreheads.  *'  If  a  man  or  a  crowd  of 
men  are  tormented  by  their  help,  why,  there  is  the 
shell  of  a  corporation  the  law  provides.  A  man  can 
creep  into  it,  and  even  his  own  conscience  cannot 
logically  prick  him." 

Philip  was  standing  near  the  speaker,  and  was  so 
galled  by  his  complacent  enjoyment  of  his  own  un- 
feeling philosophy  as  to  venture  to  make  a  sug- 
gestion. 

*'  Isn't  it  just  possible,  that  this  complaining  you 
wish  to  gag,  has  some  occasion?  " 

A  dozen  craned  their  sleek  wise  necks,  to  stare 
at  the  man  who  talked  so  wildly. 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRLUMPH.  1/5 

''  Why,  my  kind-hearted  young  friend,"  replied 
the  philosopher,  glad  of  an  excuse  to  vent  his  prac- 
tical wisdom,  "  don't  you  see  the  poor  will  complain 
until  the  whole  vast  distance  between  us  and  them 
is  bridged  over.  We  have  got  to  protect  ourselves, 
you  won't  deny  that.  I  climb  to  heights  on  anoth- 
er's body.  Everybody  knows  life  is  only  a  fight— 
the  weakest  goes  to  the  wall.  The  poor  are  the 
weakest  in  this  case." 

Could  the  mill-owner's  son  dispute  such  plain 
propositions  ?  An  odd  silence  pervaded  the  com- 
pany. The  gentlemen  in  the  windows  stopped  talk- 
ing to  look  at  this  curious  young  man,  who  seemed 
disposed  to  question  the  plainest  axioms  of  his 
class.  His  father  hitched  uneasily  in  his  chair  and 
rustled  a  bundle  of  papers  to  attract  Philip's  atten- 
tion.    What  had  got  into  the  boy  ? 

But  Philip  had  the  boldness  of  desperation  to- 
day. Everything  seemed  already  lost,  his  future  of 
happiness,  his  future  of  usefulness.  From  to-day  he 
must  be  only  a  money  lender,  living  on  the  big  divi- 
dends saved  out  of  the  workmen's  wages  in  his 
father's  mills.  And  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies 
could  not  satisfy  the  hunger  of  his  soul. 

*'  But  you  don't  strive  to  climb  on  my  body.  You 
have  no  feud  as  you  describe  with  these  other  gen- 
tlemen. It  is  only  on  the  half-starved,  and  wholly 
wronged  creatures  in  the  mill  yard  that  we  all  climb 


176  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

together.  We  don't  fight  each  other,  we  agree  ad- 
mirably, why  shouldn't  we,  as  we  divide  the  wealth 
of  the  world  between  us,  there  is  a  great  plenty  of  it 
since  the  lower  classes  don't  come  in  for  any.  The 
fishtinsf  is  onlv  between  our  class  and  the  laborers, 
and  so  far,  even  that  has  been  only  on  our  side;  we 
push  and  stamp,  they  cringe  and  yield." 

But  of  what  possible  account  was  his  opinion. 
Mr.  Breton  rose  to  his  feet,  and  all  eyes  were  turned 
toward  the  mill-owner,  on  the  course  of  whose  ideas 
hung  the  fate  of  a  whole  village.  The  clock  struck 
ten. 

''  Gentlemen,  you  pronounce  yourselves  satisfied," 
he  waited.  His  lawyer  smiled  complacently,  the 
paymaster  and  his  clerks  began  piling  up  the  books. 
'*  Well  then,  there  are  one  or  two  formalities,  my 
lawyer  informs  me — What  is  that  noise?'' 

It  was  like  a  rising  north  wind,  not  a  little  like 
the  breaking  of  the  angry  sea  on  a  rock-bound  shore. 
From  the  entrance  to  all  the  mills  swarmed  jostling 
human  forms.  A  thousand  heads  turning  at  frequent 
intervals  to  catch  courage  from  their  numbers,  crave 
an  unpleasant  snake  like  effect  to  the  swaying 
columns  which  united,  as  they  swept  on  toward  the 
mill-yard  gates.  Philip  Breton  hurried  back  from  the 
hall  and  threw  open  the  office  door.  Within  all  was 
still  as  death.  The  complacent  smile  had  died  on 
the  lawyer's  lips,  the  clerks  stood  like  statues,  while 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRIUMPH.  1 7/ 

the  ruddy  color  slowly  faded  from  his  father's  face, 
giving  place  to  undefined  dread  of  a  danger  that  had 
elements  no  single  arm  could  control.  Kings  and 
armies,  before  him,  had  trembled  at  the  murmur  of 
mobs,  till  they  learned  how  short  lived  was  the  mad 
fury  of  the  people,  no  matter  how  terrible  their 
wrongs,  till  they  learned  how  certain  was  the  dis- 
union which  made  patient  victims  so  soon  again  out 
of  the  fierce  avengers  of  blood. 

''  Do  you  ask  what  the  noise  is  ?"  cried  Philip  from 
the  doorway.  "  It  is  a  strike  at  last,  see  for  your- 
selves." 

The  sight  of  the  mill  hands  in  open  revolt,  un- 
touched by  motives  that  commonly  restrained  them, 
at  once  awed  Philip  as  one  on  shipboard  when  the 
waves  suddenly  toss  high  in  ungovernable  storms, 
and  determined  him  to  oppose  their  violence  with 
his  life  if  need  be.  The  mill-yard  gates  were  hastily 
unlocked  by  the  frightened  janitor,  and  as  the  first 
excited  throngs,  like  a  nation  escaped  out  of  bondage, 
swept  through  them,  only  one  man  stood  calmly 
watching  from  the  counting-room  piazza.  In  the 
front  rank  ran  some  little  children,  whose  faces,  that 
should  have  been  rosy  in  the  first  bloom  of  life, 
were  pinched  and  wan,  instead.  Play-hours  and 
merry  sports  were  unknown  to  them.  What  their 
baby  fingers  could  earn  was  the  merest  trifle,  but  it 
cost  them  the  only  hours  that  could  ever  be  free  from 


178  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

care.  A  number  of  them  were  deformed  from  a 
neglected  infancy ;  they  had  to  learn  to  be  still  because 
it  hurt  them  to  fall — tenderer  lessons  there  was  no 
time  for.  And  now  they  must  be  driven  forth  with 
the  rest  to  earn  what  they  ate.  Then  came  the  girls, 
chattering,  and  nervously  pulling  their  shawls  about 
their  shoulders,  as  if  it  were  winter.  One  and  all 
seemed  to  wear  the  plaid  shawl — badge  of  their  voca- 
tion— cold  or  warm,  and  there  was  the  same  dull 
yellow  hue  on  their  cheeks,  the  same  lines  of  weari- 
ness on  every  face.  Few  of  them  looked  well  ;  girls 
ought  to  be  petted  a  little  ;  but  the  dreary  monotony 
of  their  ill-paid  work  had  frowned  on  their  childhood 
as  it  cursed  them  now.  And  instead  of  resting  while 
they  might  ripen  into  healthful,  happy  women  and 
blessed  mothers,  their  unknitted  frames  and  soft 
muscles  must  work  like  their  starving  fathers  and 
brothers.  It  is  only  the  women  of  the  rich,  whom 
the  sentiment  of  chivalry  is  for.  In  every  eye  was 
the  dullness  that  comes  when  hope  goes,  and  the 
vague  delicious  dreaming,  the  eternal  privilege  of 
girlhood,  is  broken  rudely  upon,  when  love  has  no 
more  of  its  ideal  glory,  and  all  the  beauty  of  purity 
and  refinement  is  lost  in  the  gross  struggle  for  some- 
thing to  eat.  The  gentle  poetical  grace  of  woman- 
hood was  gone,  those  huddling  awkward  creatures 
were  only  weaker  men. 

But  Mr.  Breton  had  pushed  his  chair  to  one  side 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRIUMPH.  1 79 

and  was  making  his  way  through  the  group  of  his 
friends  with  hardly  a  word.  The  rest  tried  to  smile 
but  he  was  far  too  angry. 

"  Don't  go,"  urged  his  lawyer,  imperatively  lay- 
ing his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  "  don't  think  of  it,  you 
can  do  no  kind  of  good,  and  they  will  only  insult 
you." 

"Insult  me?"  he  repeated  between  his  teeth. 
Then  he  stopped,  and  suddenly  faced  about.  He 
frowned  fiercely  on  the  cautious  business  men,  whom 
he  knew  full  well  had  decided  to  give  him  the  lurch. 
"  If  I  had  a  pair  of  horses  who  behaved  badly,  they 
are  stronger  than  I,  but  I  would  whip  them  and 
starve  them  till  they  forgot  it."  If  he  could  subdue 
his  own  rebellious  factory  hands,  and  turn  them 
back  to  their  work  like  whipped  beasts,  he  knew 
these  timid  counselors  would  come  back  into  his 
office  and  put  their  names  to  his  corporation  scheme, 
-if  not —  He  bit  his  lip  and  pushed  on  out  of  the 
door.  And  then  his  help  had  never  dared  think  of 
mutiny  before  ;  he  had  fancied  they  were  afraid  of 
him.  Five  minutes  more  would  prove  whether  they 
were  or  not. 

In  a  moment  more  he  stood  beside  his  son,  who 
watched,  pale  and  stern,  from  the  counting-room 
piazza  ;  behind  him  his  lawyer  whose  face,  deserted 
by  smiles  at  last,  looked  almost  unfamiliar;  and  still 
further  back  were  a  few  of  the  boldest  of  his  visitors. 


l8o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

''For  God's  sake — go  inside,"  whispered  Philip 
between  his  set  teeth,  "  you  will  only  make  them 
angrier." 

"  Truckle  to  my  own  help,  shall  I  ?  "  repeated 
his  father  in  his  harsh,  grating  mill  tones. 

The  mill-owner  threw  back  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders, and  looked  commandingly  at  the  crowd.  He 
could  not  understand  why  they  were  not  afraid  of 
him.  Had  he  not  been  the  dispenser  of  bread, 
almost  of  life  or  death,  to  them  for  twenty  years? 
They  were  a  thousand,  and  he  one,  but  for  thirty 
years  their  fate  had  trembled  in  the  balance  of  his 
will  ;  and  was  it  any  less  so  to-day  ?  They  might  be 
ever  so  numerous  and  strong  ;  the  subtle  machinery 
of  the  laws  and  the  ingenuity  of  capital  put  them 
at  his  mercy.  He  frowned  majestically  on  the 
women  and  children  ;  where  would  their  dinners 
and  suppers  come  from  ?  Where  could  they  lay  their 
foolish  heads  to-night  if  he  chose  to  punish  them  ? 
But  they  only  laughed  in  a  novel  sense  of  freedom 
as  they  hurried  by  to  enjoy  their  whole  holiday. 

Then  came  the  men,  with  the  hard  set  look  on 
their  faces  that  should  have  warned  the  mill-owner 
this  was  not  the  moment  for  him  to  assert  too  boldly 
the  sovereignty  that  had  made  their  whole  lives  a 
barren  waste.  The  word  had  been  passed  from  lip  to 
lip,  that  Mr.  Breton  was  at  the  counting-room  door, 
and  very  angry.     But  his  son,  who  had  shown  him- 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRIUMPH.  l8l 

self  their  friend,  and  who  had  been  too  honest  with 
them  to  give  them  false  counsel,  stood  with  him,  and 
the  men  meant  to  show  him  the  respect  he  deserved, 
and  march  by  in  silence.  Still,  the  seeds  of  old 
wrongs  and  daily  repeated  privations  had  borne  a 
bitter  fruit  in  every  heart,  and  many  a  sullen  look  of 
hate  Philip  saw  on  their  faces. 

"Stop,  stop,  I  say?'  shouted  Mr.  Breton.  A 
murmur  ran  through  the  crowd,  and  they  stopped. 
Philip  saw  the  willingness  of  the  halt  ;  it  had  irked 
them  to  go  by,  without  one  word  to  relieve  the  uni- 
versal sense  of  injustice  that  had  seethed  so  long  in 
their  breasts. 

"  You  will  do  well  to  let  them  go  in  peace,"  mut- 
tered Philip,  in  a  constrained  voice,  "  the  poor  crea- 
tures will  have  to  come  back  again  when  they  get 
hungry."  But  his  father  did  not  appear  to  hear 
him.  His  face  had  flushed  crimson,  and  he  seemed 
to  have  quite  lost  his  self-command,  as  he  shook  his 
fist  at  the  sullen  crowd  that  widened  every  moment. 

*'  Do  you  think  you  can  force  me,  you  beggars  ?  " 
For  a  moment,,  admiration  for  his  courage  divided 
the  indignation  of  his  strange  audience,  and  the  first 
response  was  as  much  applause  as  anger. 

"  No!  "  he  shouted,  in  a  voice  shrill  with  excite- 
ment. "You  shall  every  one  of  you  starve  first.  You 
get  more  wages  than  you  earn  now.  Do  you  know 
what  this  strike  will  fetch  you  }  " 


1 8 2  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

His  lawyer  plucked  at  his  sleeve  ;  that  man  of 
discretion  did  not  like  the  expression  on  the  faces 
of  the  workmen  nearest  to  the  piazza. 

"  This  is  quite  uncalled  for,  my  dear  Breton,  and 
not  only  that,"  he  added,  *'  but  decidedly  dan — " 

But  the  excited  proprietor  shook  off  his  arm,  and 
stepped  forward  trembling  with  impotent  wrath. 

"  I  will  tell  you,''  he  cried,  "  I  will  cut  your  pay 
down  ten  per  cent  more."  A  murmur  started  on  the 
outskirts  of  the  crowd,  and  swelled  into  a  roar  at  his 
very  feet,  while  the  mass  of  ill  clothed  humanity 
swayed  tumultuously. 

Philip  saw  that  a  catastrophe  was  imminent.  The 
excited  workmen  avoided  his  anxious  eyes,  and  there 
was  a  power  of  wrath  in  their  slightly  stooping  atti- 
tude, like  a  panther  before  a  spring.  Their  faces  too, 
were  lit  up  with  a  fierce  glare,  like  some  long-caged 
beast  that  has  burst  his  bars.  Injustice  after  all  is 
an  uncertain  foundation  for  riches,  when  it  is  thrill- 
ing human  beings  who  suffer.  He  rushed  boldly 
forward  to  save  his  father  from  violence,  could  it  be 
he  was  absolutely  blind  to  the  peril  in  which  he  stood  ? 
Mr.  Breton's  face  had  grown  suddenly  purple. 

''  I'll  teach  you  to  brave  me.  I'll  starve  your 
obstinacy  out  of  you,  before  one  of  you  comes  back 
into  my  mill." 

He  threw  up  his  hands  in  distress,  reeled  back- 
ward before  their  astonished  eyes,  and  fell  into  the 


THE  MILL-OWNER'S  TRLUMPH.  1 83 

arms  of  his  son,  a  victim  of  his  own  passion.  The 
poor  were  avenged.  God  had  taken  judgment  into 
his  own  hands. 

His  friends  bore  his  stricken  form  within,  out  of 
the  sight  of  the  people.  But  he  had  tamed  the  mob 
at  last,  though  it  took  his  life  to  do  it.  A  hush  as 
chill  as  the  breath  of  the  death  angel's  wings,  had 
fallen  upon  them.  They  waited  with  the  patience 
of  their  class,  they  watched  doctors  come  and  at- 
tendants hurry  to  and  fro,  but  no  one  told  them 
what  had  happened.  Nothing  but  glances  of  hate 
were  cast  at  them,  till  at  last  Philip  Breton  himself 
with  a  new  desolation  in  his  face,  came  out  alone 
on  the  piazza.  Some  fancied  he  stood  unsteadily  as 
if  a  vital  prop  had  been  taken  away,  others  saw  a 
new  force  and  dignity  in  his  thin  boyish  face. 

''  My  father  did  not  finish  his  speech,"  he  said, 
with  scathing  satire  in  his  voice,  "  I  will  finish  it  for 
him."  They  would  have  borne  all  the  reproach  he 
might  have  heaped  upon  them,  but  he  only  said, 
"  Will  you  go  back  to  work,"  his  voice  began  to 
break  as  he  added,  "  My  father  is  dead,  and  I  want 
to  take  him  home." 

Not  a  man,  woman  or  child  but  worked  out  their 
tasks  that  day,     Ezekie]  Breton  had  triumphed. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

A    Holiday. 

THE  streets  of  the  little  village  are  alive  with 
the  people  commonly  shut  up  in  the  great 
mills  out  of  sight.  It  was  only  one  man  dead,  the 
world  in  which  he  moved  crowded  along,  and  if  he 
had  come  back  even  so  soon,  he  would  have  had  to 
make  a  place  for  himself,  as  when  he  started  first. 
Another  man  was  born  the  minute  he  died,  and 
the  ranks  were  always  kept  full. 

There  was  a  holiday  at  last,  and  the  people  were 
the  nearest  they  could  get  to  holiday  dress.  The 
husbands  and  fathers  had  but  few  changes  to  make, 
their  aprons,  if  they  were  fortunate  enough  to  have 
them,  were  off,  and  their  over-alls,  their  sleeves  were 
rolled  down,  too,  revealing  the  wear  of  storm  and  sun 
on  the  cheap  stuff  of  which  the  clothes  of  the  poor 
are  made.  But  the  young  men  had  most  of  them 
some  flashy  color  about  their  necks,  and  wore  some 
threadbare  black  coat,  with  here  and  there  a  whole 
showy  suit,  bought  regardless  of  the  poverty  that 
stared  them  in  the  face.  The  higher  classes  had 
taught  them  the  lesson  that  a  poor  man  can  expect 


A  HOLIDAY.  185 

no  consideration  or  respect  anywhere,  and  each  hu- 
man creature,  whose  spirit  is  not  all  broken,  will  save 
his  scant  pennies  to  disguise  in  the  livery  of  the 
prosperous  the  poverty  that  the  world  makes  at  once 
his  misfortune  and  his  disgrace.  Most  of  the  girls, 
too,  had  gilt  or  rubber  jewelry  in  abundance,  rich 
looking  chains  about  their  necks,  and  the  most  elab- 
orate and  massfve  earrings.  They  wore  flashing  rib- 
bons of  the  most  startling  colors,  and  for  dresses 
cheap  flimsy  imitations  of  the  most  costly  stuffs. 
They  could  manage  to  save  enough  by  going  with- 
out what  reasonable  regard  for  health  or  simplest 
foresight  would  require  to  strut  about  in  this  tawdry 
finery  once  a  week,  and  win  the  favor  and  admiration 
they  fancied  never  was  accorded  to  beauty  or  virtue 
or  sweetness,  but  to  the  affectation  of  lavish  wealth. 
All  had  gathered  near  the  Breton  mansion.  The 
door  was  hung  with  black  crape  in  voluminous  folds, 
a  melancholy  hearse  with  plumes  waving  the  insig- 
nia of  woe  was  at  the  gate.  But  the  faces  of  the 
multitude  were  happy,  even  gay,  and  the  murmur 
of  their  voices  had  no  cadence  of  sadness.  But  for 
one  moment  they  were  quiet.  It  was  when  eight 
bareheaded  men,  with  awe  on  their  faces,  the  awe  of 
mortals  in  the  presence  of  the  grand  mystery  of 
death,  came  slowly  out  of  the  crape-hung  door  bear- 
ing between  them  the  deposed  lord  of  the  house. 
Then  appeared   in   the  door  the   face  of  the   heir, 


1 86  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

young  Philip,  pale  and  grief-stricken,  and  an  invol- 
untary hum  of  greeting  met  him  from  the  people* 
who  lined  the  roadside  and  hustled  the  carriages  in 
waiting.  He  was  their  hope,  their  trusted  deliverer, 
their  friend  who  had  seen  how  hard  their  lives  were, 
and  had  once  promised  to  help  them.  His  words 
that  night  of  the  fire  had  sunk  deep  into  their  hearts, 
they  had  been  repeated  from  mouth  to  mouth,  with 
many  an  addition  of  an  eager  imagination.  To  be 
sure,  he  had  done  but  little  to  fulfill  his  promise,  but 
there  were  the  fire  escapes  to  bear  witness  to  his 
honesty,  and  his  father,  the  one  they  were  expected 
to  mourn  for,  was  a  hard  man  to  move.  Had  the 
young  man  not  admitted  in  their  meeting  he  was 
too  weak  to  help  them?  But  now  he  was  untram- 
meied,  the  unquestioned  owner  of  the  Breton  Mills  ; 
his  wish  was  the  sole  authority  henceforth,  and  he 
wished  kindly  to  them ;  his  word  the  only  law 
throughout  the  great  factory,  and  he  had  given  his 
word  to  help  them.  Not  a  soul  but  believed  in  the 
dawn  of  a  vague  day  of  general  happiness.  Few  had 
clear  ideas  of  the  elements  of  their  long  wretched- 
ness;  they  thought  everything  was  wrong  in  the 
system  under  which  the  poor  were  so  unhappy,  and 
the  remedy  that  occurred  to  their  minds  was,  of 
course,  to  change  everything.  No  more  long  hours, 
no  more  scant  pay,  no  more  favoritism  ;  all  should 
have   alike.     No  more  strikes  or  conflicts  or   com- 


A    HOLIDAY.  187 

plaints  or  bitterness,  for  there  would  be  no  hardships 
left. 

No  wonder,  then,  that  Philip  looked  out  on  beam- 
ing joyous  faces,  on  smiling  lips  and  eyes  that  sent 
a  glad  welcome  to  his  slight  young  form  their  warm 
fancies  invested  with  such  glory  as  a  new  prophet 
might  sigh  in  vain  for.  But  he  stood  behind  his 
father's  dead  body — and  they  had  slain  him.  So  the 
god  of  their  fond  hopes  ground  his  teeth  at  them. 
These  people  had  cost  him  his  father,  and  in  sight 
of  his  unburied  body  they  dared  rejoice,  and  make 
of  his  funeral  their  gala  day.  The  vulgarly  dressed 
crowd  of  working  people  looked  to  his  sorrowful 
eyes  like  a  troop  of  murderers,  w^ho  deserved  not 
even  common  humanity.  The  glance  of  hate  he 
gave  their  eager  upturned  faces  boded  but  ill  for 
their  extravagant  hopes.  Then  he  threw  himself  into 
his  carriage  and  resigned  himself  to  solitary  misery. 
His  carriage  moved  a  few  feet  and  stopped. 

His  father  had  loved  him,  not  because  he  was 
eood  or  wise,  but  because  he  was  his  son.  The  vil- 
lage  swarmed  at  this  moment  with  people  to  bow 
humbly  to  him,  to  run  at  his  beck,  to  listen  when 
he  cared  to  speak.  His  house, — ah,  yes  it  w^as  his 
now — was  full  of  respectful  mourners  who  would 
press  his  hand  softly,  and  offer  in  lugubrious  tones 
to  do  everything  they  could  for  him.  Everybody 
seemed  overflowing   with   consideration,   but   there 


1 8  8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

was  this  or  that  present  selfish  motive  for  it  all.  His 
father  had  loved  him  without  cause,  only  that  he  was 
his  son,  and  his  heart  longed  unutterably  for  the  love 
of  close  natural  ties.  How  terrible  it  is  to  be  alone 
as  he  was,  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  thousand  willing 
servants,  alone  in  the  midst  of  a  hundred  eager 
friends.  Then  he  thought  of  Bertha.  At  first  it 
seemed  a  year  since  he  had  lost  her,  and  he  won- 
dered with  a  dull  ache  in  his  heart  where  she  could 
be  after  so  long  a  time. 

Then  it  seemed  but  an  hour,  so  fresh  was  the 
wound  in  his  heart.  It  was  her  place,  that  empty 
seat  by  his  side,  in  this  supreme  moment  of  his  des- 
olation. She  could  comfort  him  in  his  loneliness, 
the  most  terrible  crushing  loneliness,  that  in  the 
midst  of  a  multitude.  Perhaps  he  was  weak,  too 
weak  for  the  stern  requisitions  of  his  destiny,  perhaps 
there  was  not  enough  of  the  sturdy  element  in  his 
character.  He  would  rather  have  leaned  on  some 
other  brave  heart,  than  stand  out  alone  before  the 
world,  better  formed  for  the  gentle  graces  of  a  friend 
than  to  wield  undismayed  the  ponderous  weapons  of 
wealth  and  power.  He  would  have  been  better  to 
nurse  the  sick  and  comfort  the  fallen,  than  to  be  or- 
dered to  the  front  of  the  battle,  where  to  be  still  is 
infamy,  and  to  fight  death  to  some  pitied  foe.  And 
there  was  not  one  human  being  near  or  dear  enough 
to  him,  to  instil  one  spark  of  new  courage  into  his 


A  HO  LID  A  Y.  1^9 

heart,  or  brighten  by  one  smile  of  love  the  darkening 
desolation  that  seemed  to  have  settled  over  his  life. 
If  Bertha  had  only  waited  another  day  she  could  not 
have  gone.  She  would  have  staid  and  learned  again 
for  very  pity  to  love  him,  since  she  had  forgot.  If 
she  had  only  waited  another  day !  But  no  doubt  the 
very  weakness  in  him  that  cried  out  for  her  made 
him  incapable  of  holding  her  love.  It  is  hard  to  con- 
fess to  oneself,  his  soul  is  too  poor  and  small  for  the 
woman  of  his  choice  to  love  him  ;  but  that  was  the 
depth  of  humihation  Philip  Breton  had  reached  as  he 
lay  back  on  his  carriage  cushions.  But  at  least  he 
was  generous  to  make  an  excuse,  even  at  the  mo- 
ment of  his  greatest  need,  for  the  woman  who  had 
deserted  him. 

He  heard  voices  from  without.  He  had  no  inter- 
est in  what  any  one  in  the  world  might  say,  he 
thought,  but  these  were  the  first  words  that  fell  upon 
his  ear. 

"  Sick  Is  it  ?  Well  cheer  up  girl,  the  young  boss 
will  make  it  all  right.  Yer  all  tired  out  and  ye  never 
was  fit  for  much  anyhow." 

''  Will  he  give  us  doctors  too?" 

"■  Why  not  ?  he  has  'em  when  he's  sick.  It's  just 
as  right  we  should,  as  works  our  best  for  him  when 
we're  well." 

Philip  was  fairly  startled  into  momentary  forget- 
fulness  of  his  sorrow.     But  the  carriage  moved  along 


1 90  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

a  few  feet  and  stopped  again.  Were  the  peo- 
ple mad?  Was  it  his  duty  to  keep  a  free  hospital 
and  teach  the  sick  to  come  whining  to  him  for  char- 
ity, when  ill?  Wouldn't  it  spoil  them,  to  say  nothing 
from  the  business  point  of  view?  He  began  to  sym- 
pathize more  than  ever  with  his  father's  perplexities, 
and  to  feel  that  perhaps,  after  all,  his  solution  of  them 
was  the  only  practicable  one.  But  he  heard  the  rustle 
of  a  woman's  dress  beside  his  carriage  where  it  waited. 

"  Isn't  it  splendid  to  have  a  whole  holiday  ?  "  said 
a  fresh  girlish  voice. 

''This  isn't  the  last,  Molly,"  replied  a  man  who 
stood  right  against  the  carriage  door.  '*  They  say 
we're  not  to  work  but  four  days  a  week  now." 

Philip  frowned  very  unpromisingly,  but  the  girl 
said, 

"  And  how  can  we  git  along  on  much  less  wages  ?" 

"  Why  the  wages  will  be  more  instead  of  less.  I 
guess  you  don't  understand." 

Nor  did  Philip,  but  the  carriage  rolled  along  be- 
fore the  young  man  could  explain,  and  stopped  by 
another  group. 

"  Only  eight  hours  a  day  and  every  hand  will 
get  just  the  same  ;  no  more  favoritism.  Who  told 
me?  why  that's  been  the  plan  all  along,  only  the 
old  man  wouldn't  agree.  Now  its  goin'  through, 
though." 

The  other  man  laughed.     "  Weil,  I  don't  see  how 


A  HOLIDAY.  ^9^ 


the  young  boss  is  goin'  to  make  the  mill  pay  that 
fashion,  but  that's  his  lookout." 

-  Pay  !  "  repeated  the  sanguine  prophet.        Why 
those  looms  just  turn  off  sheets  of  gold.'' 

The  horses  started  once  more  and  Philip  Breton 
sank  back  on  his  seat.     The  people  had  cost  him  his 
bride  and  his  father.     They  had  wrecked  his  life,  and 
cast  him  on  a  shore  of  barren  wastes,  with  never  one 
fountain  of  hope  for  his  famished  soul.     And  here 
the   thousand    crushed,  hitherto    hopeless,  creatures 
whose  lives  need  not  all  be  such  wrecks  as  his,  had 
fixed  their  longing  eyes  on  his  acts,  which  they  ex- 
pected to  bring  paradise  to  their  doors,  to  banish  all 
the  evils  that  had  cursed  their  firesides  and  untold 
venerations  before  them.     What  could  he  do-what 
was    there  to    do?     If  he   were    now    some    nobler 
specimen  of  manhood,  such  a  one  as  Bertha  might 
have    loved;    such    a    one    as    could    be    generous 
enou-h    to    forgive    the    suffering    they  had    given 
him -"or   if,  even  now,  he   was   wise   as   some  men, 
and  could   see   his  way  to  help  them,  they  might 
hope   indeed.     They  had  swallowed    up    his  dream 
of  love,    so  much    sweeter   and  diviner    than  other 
men  knew;    they  had  killed  his  father,  whom  this 
moment  thev  were  following  with  heartless  joy   to 
his  grave.     And   now,  with  stupid  and  yet  pathetic 
trust,  they  looked  to  him  to  devote  his  fortune  and 
himself  to  them,  never  questioning  but  a  word  of  his, 


192  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

a  Stroke  of  his  pen,  would  let  perpetual  sunlight  into 
their  lives. 

That  evening  he  sat  alone  in  the  little  study  in 
the  house  that  had  been  his  father's.  The  house  was 
full  of  solemn-faced  guests,  but  he  would  see  none  of 
them.  He  had  bowed  his  head  on  his  folded  arms 
and  tried  to  commune  with  the  dead  ;  his  dead. 
There  were  two.  One  his  kind,  tender  father,  whose 
broad,  florid  face  always  brightened  with  a  smile  at 
the  coming  of  his  son.  His  firm,  assured  step  had 
trod  this  very  floor  many  hundred  times,  while  he 
devised  his  wonderful  schemes  which  seemed  fated  to 
succeed.  He  had  filled  the  shelves  along  the  walls 
with  their  books  ;  he  had  chosen  the  table  on  which 
his  broken  son  rested  his  head.  The  things  he  had 
done  remained,  but  he  had  gone ;  could  it  be,  gone 
where  no  prayers  or  cries  could  reach  or  touch  him  ; 
gone  from  the  house  he  had  built ;  gone  from  the 
little  room  he  best  loved  in  it,  dropping  his 
unfinished  task  into  hands  that  were  too  weak  to  ful- 
fill it  ;  leaving  his  burden  for  shoulders  too  slight  to 
bear  it.  The  other  of  his  dead  was  a  woman.  He 
saw  her  as  if  she  yet  lived.  What  there  was  in  this 
woman  of  all  others  that  should  have  called  forth 
such  tender  raptures  of  love,  he  had  never  paused  to 
wonder.'  She  was  not  brilliant  as  some  women  ;  her 
lips,  that  he  believed  could  have  spoken  so  wonder- 
fully if  they  had  cared,  were  oftenest  closed  in  society  ; 


A  HOLIDAY..  193 

her  eyes  expressed  to  him  the  rarest  of  noble  thoughts, 
and  it  was  as  if  she  deemed  the  common  world  un- 
worthy, but  that  by  and  by  she  would  speak.  He 
had  thought  her  heart  spotless  white,  and  the  texture 
of  her  nature  finer  and  sweeter  than  all  other  women. 
Every  eye  that  saw  her  must  admire  the  threads  of 
finespun  gold  she  called  her  hair;  her  soft  skin  as 
delicate  to  the  touch  as  a  baby's  lips  ;  and  the  queen- 
like perfection  of  her  form,  a  system  of  bold  curves 
and  lines  of  beauty  melting  into  each  other  at  their 
beginning  and  their  end.  But  could  there  be  a  soul, 
to  whom  she  was  so  much  besides  her  beauty  ;  for 
whom  each  phase  of  her  thought  or  tone  of  her  voice 
was  just  what  seemed  most  fitting?  And  she  too  was 
gone  ;  dead  ;  where  no  prayers  or  cries  of  his  could 
reach  or  touch  her ;  dead  and  yet  forever  alive  for 
him. 

''Will  you  see  a  lady,  sir?"  It  was  Mary,  whose 
manner  was  subdued  suitably  to  the  melancholy 
occasion.  All  these  trappings  and  pretences  pro- 
voked Philip  strangely,  as  did  the  low  voices  of  his 
guests  and  their  drawn-down  faces.  He  knew  well 
enough  they  didn't  care  so  much  as  all  that.  "  She  is 
very  particular  Mr.  Phil — ,  I  mean  Mr.  Breton." 

Then  he  forgot  his  impatience  in  a  strange  thrill- 
ing thought.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  walked  to  the 
window  without  answering  the  girl.  Could  it  be 
Bertha  -had  felt  his  hunger  for  her,  such  as  no 
9 


194  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

other  creature  could  have  for  her  presence?  Was  it 
too  unHkely  that  such  pain  as  ached  in  his  heart, 
might  have  touched  her?  A  throb  of  electricity  goes 
around  the  world  ;  might  not  such  longing  as  his 
have  reached  her  a  few  short  miles  away?  The  maid 
began  again. 

'^  Will  you  see  a  —  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  show  her  in."  How  wild  he  was  to- 
night. Why  Bertha  was  married  to  the  man  she  had 
chosen,  long  ago  ;  if  she  came  back  what  comfort  for 
him?  If  she  were  not  happy  with  this  man  after  all  ; 
oh,  God  save  her  from  such  a  fate,  since  he  had 
paid  such  a  price  that  she  might  be  happy.  God 
forbid  all  his  torment  be  for  nothing.  Philip  was 
rapidly  walking  the  room.  But  supposing — and  his 
heart  almost  stopped  beating  at  the  thought — she 
were  not  married  and  had  come  back  to  him  after 
all — what  other  woman  could  call  on  him  now — what 
then,  could  he  forgive  her? 

The  door  opened  and  a  heavily  veiled  woman 
came  in.  She  was  too  slight  of  form  and  not  tall 
enough  for  Bertha.  The  idea  had  been  absurd,  but 
human  beings  never  can  believe  miracles  in  their  be- 
half quite  impossible.  So  Philip  was  not  required  to 
decide  the  terrible  question  he  had  asked  himself. 
Much  as  he  had  longed  for  that  other  woman  who 
had  not  one  throb  of  pity  in  her  heart  for  him,  his 
first   feeling  was    of  intense    relief,  when  his  visitor 


A  HOLIDAY.  195 

laid  back   her   veil   and  revealed    the  face  of  Jane 
Graves. 

She  looked  a  little  agitated  and  hastened  to  speak. 
"  I  know  you  are  surprised  to  see  me,  but  I  felt  I 
must—" 

"  Do  not  distress  yourself,"  he  said  gravely,  re- 
covering his  self-possession.  Was  this  his  first  visit 
of  condolence,  and  so  soon? 

"  It  was  about  Miss  Bertha,"  then  she  caught  her 
breath  and  went  on  as  if  she  were  afraid  he  would 
interrupt  her,  he  started  so  violently.  "  I  know  what 
a  lover  you  are — if  mine  had  only  been  like  you;" 
she  dropped  her  eyes  and  went  on  without  looking 
at  him,  "  but  the  girl  you  liked  so  much  that  you 
were  blind  to  how  mean  she  was,  she  never  loved 
you  ;  she  never  cared  anything  for  you." 

Philip  had  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair  as  she  be- 
gan, but  now  he  sat  still  as  death,  with  his  eyes  fixed, 
as  if  in  some  fatal  charm,  on  the  girl's  face.  She  grew 
pale  as  she  talked,  all  but  one  bright  spot  in  either 
cheek.  * 

"  I  could  tell  it  when  your  name  was  spoken  be- 
fore her  ;  women  notice  things  like  that — and  when 
she  expected  you — and  when  she  expected  the  other." 

His  eyes  fell  in  shame,  he  wished  a  mountain 
might  fall  on  him  to  shield  his  hurt  face  from  even 
this  poor  girl's  scrutiny.  But  she  hurried  on  as  if 
she  took  pleasure  in   his  wincing  nerves.     "  If  you 


196  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

could  have  seen  how  her  face  warmed  at  his  coming, 
and  her  voice,  so  cold  to  you,  shook  and  stumbled 
when  she  welcomed  him.  And  how  her  hands  would 
nestle  like  a  kitten  in  his — at  a  look,  you  never  saw 
her  like  that,  did  you  ?  And  there  was  no  pillow  so 
soft,  you  would  think,  as  his  shoulder,  and — " 

''  I  cannot  stand  this,"  he  cried,  starting  to  his 
feet.     ''  Do  you  think  I  am  made  of  stone?" 

"  Wasn't  it  a  pretty  sight  ?  I  used  to  love  to  hang 
out  of  my  window  to  see  it,  or  follow  her  out  on  her 
Sunday  walks.  Her  kind  of  women  make  the  big- 
gest fools  of  themselves  ;  so  cold  and  lofty-like  you 
would  think  them  angels  ;  when  all  of  a  sudden  they 
lose  their  heads,  and  there's  nothing  too  wild  for  them 
to  do  for  some  man,  till  they  get  over  it."  Her  eyes 
were  all  ablaze  with  hate,  but  Philip  hung  on  the 
scornful  lips  as  if  it  were  not  poison  he  drank  from 
them. 

'*  But  she  did  not  get  over  it,"  he  faltered  when 
she  stopped.  He  raised  his  hands  to  cool  his  beat- 
ing temples,  his  fingers  were  cold  as  ice. 

"  That  is  it,  it  lasted  longer  than  I  counted  on. 
I  thought  she'd  come  to  her  senses  before  she  could 
do  anything  rash,  and  then  I  supposed  he  wouldn't 
leave  the  village  and  what  he  was  doing  here,  just 
yet." 

"  But  why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

*'  What  could  you    done,  she  cared  nothing  for 


A  HOLIDAY.  197 

you.  But  I  was  doing  the  best  I  knew,  if  they 
hadn't  been  too  quick  for  me.  I  was  waiting  till  I 
thought  she  was  just  mad  over  the  man.  I  never 
supposed  they  would  be  so  quick,"  her  bosom  rose 
and  fell  as  if  it  were  hard  for  her  to  catch  her  breath. 
**  I  knew  one  thing  was  sure,  and  when  it  would  hurt 
her  the  most  I  was  going  to  have  tried  it.  If  I  had 
only  hurried."  She  rose  sobbing  violently,  but  she 
shed  no  tears.  Philip  had  no  consideration  for  her 
emotion. 

''  What  was  it,  oh,  why  didn't  you  doit  ?  "  his  form 
trembled  as  if  he  stood  in  a  winter's  blast,  while  drops 
of  perspiration  gathered  on  his  forehead. 

''  I — I — hated  so  to — to  break  his  heart,  I — I 
knew  he  would — would  never  get  over  it.  He  ain't 
the  kind  that — " 

"  Curse  him !  "  cried  Philip,  "  what  is  he  to 
me  ? 

"  I  was  going  to  tell  him  that  she  was  engaged  to 
you.  I  knew  he  would  never  forgive  her  for  deceiv- 
ing him." 

"And  didn't  he  know  it?" 

"  Ah,  if  he  had,  he  was  that  honest — you  don't 
know  him.  But  I  was  too  slow,  and  now,  my  God 
my  God  !  "  Then  she  rose  to  her  feet  and  tied  her 
veil  tightly  about  her  face  and  moved  toward  the 
door.  But  Philip  Breton  was  there  before  her  and 
held  it  against  her. 


198  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

.  "Tell  me  first  what  you  came  here  for  to-night." 
The  answer  came  sharp  as  a  knife. 

*'  Because  I  wanted  to  make  you  hate  that  woman 
too.  It  made  me  mad  that  you  should  think  her  so 
pure  and  good." 

"  But  why  should  you  hate  her,  I  never  could — 
never."  His  hand  loosened  on  the  door-knob  and 
he  leaned  back.  Jane  Graves  could  have  gone  if  she 
would. 

"And  don't  you  hate  her  now?"  she  almost 
screamed  at  him,  "  when  I  have  told  you  how  she 
kissed  and  fondled  him  when  she  never  had  — " 

"  Hush." 

"  Well  I  hate  her,  because  she  stole  away  my 
lover.  May  his  love  touch  her  yet  to  disgust  ;  may 
his  kisses  turn  bitter  on  her  lips."  The  door  closed 
after  his  visitor,  and  Philip  glanced  at  the  clock 
which  pointed  to  twelve.  Only  half  the  night  gone 
then !  He  sat  down  and  dropped  his  head  on  his 
folded  arms  again. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

What  will  They  Fetch? 

DAYS  passed  till  they  made  weeks,  and  weeks 
till  they  made  months,  and  no  change  came 
for  the  mills  or  for  the  lives  of  the  creatures  who 
worked  within  their  grim  walls,  only  the  change 
from  poor  to  more  poor.  Poverty,  like  riches,  has 
the  potent  principle  of  reproduction.  The  bank  ac- 
count of  the  young  proprietor  was  swelled  by  many 
thousands,  but  his  account  with  the  thousand  tired, 
needy  souls,  who  had  looked  to  him  for  help  in  their 
distress,  showed  him  more  hopelessly  in  their  debt 
every  week. 

They  saw  but  little  of  the  young  mill-owner,  and 
the  village  saw  but  little  of  him.  It  was  said  he  was 
traveling  from  mill  to  mill  studying  up  new  methods 
of  management,  in  and  out  of  all  kinds  of  shops, 
learning  the  special  excellences  of  each.  He  wanted 
to  sail  closer  to  the  wind,  to  stop  all  wastes  and  cut 
down  surplus  expense,  they  said.  Many  had  pre- 
dicted the  Breton  Mills  would  run  down,  but  at 
least  the  first  effect  of  the  change  was  anything  but 
retrograde.     The  wholesale  dealers  and  the  proprie- 


200  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

tors  of  great  commission  houses  rubbed  their  hands 
with  delight  at  the  prospect  of  easy  terms  and  fat 
profits.  They  received  the  thin-faced  young  man 
into  their  offices  much  as  the  spider  the  historic  fly. 
Fortune  smiles  on  the  most  unlucky  occasionally  as 
when  she  sends  such  beardless  boys  as  he,  they 
thought,  with  full  power  to  trade  with  such  shrewd 
old  business  men  as  they.  But  as  they  bowed  the 
quiet  mill-owner  out  of  their  warehouses,  and  turned 
back  to  congratulate  themselves  on  their  bargains, 
not  one  of  them  all  but  came  to  wish  it  had  been  the 
father  instead  they  had  made  their  contracts  with. 

He  came  into  the  branch  city  offices  of  the 
Breton  Mills  like  a  mild-faced  missionary,  and  the 
clerks  and  pompous  salesmen  and  dignified  man- 
agers laughed  in  their  sleeves  at  the  good,  peaceful 
era  that  was  coming.  But  the  small  black  eyes  cut 
a  swath  where  they  fell,  and  many  a  middle-man, 
that  had  thought  himself  a  vital  element  in  the 
success  of  the  mill  interests,  found  his  services  dis- 
pensed with.  Only  the  very  best  salesmen  and 
traveling  agents  were  retained,  and  those  with  a 
new  access  of  energy.  A  dozen  men,  with  fat  beam- 
ing faces  and  portly  frames,  who  had  lived  in  lazy 
contentment  on  excellent  salaries  they  never  took 
any  pains  to  earn,  were  suddenly  out  of  a  place. 

The  new  proprietor  was  very  unpopular  in  these 
business  circles.     The  startled  idlers  only  hated  him 


OTHA  T  WILL   THE  Y  FE  TCH  ?  201 

the  more,  because  they  had   not  ^^^^^^"-^^  }^';^,  ^\ 
firit    The  free  and  easy  dispensation  expected  d.d  not 
come      The  young  proprietor,  who  had  been  under- 
tood  to  be  of  liberal  tendencies,  seenr>ed  as  anx.ous 
o  stop  the  leaks  in  his  immense  -come  as  .f  every 
leak  did  not  support  some  man  and  his  fam.ly  m 
comfort.     One  or  two  of  the  ousted  ones  came  to 
his  hotel  and  told  him  how  melancholy  it  would  be 
t  them  to  lose  the  places  they  had  had  s^  ong  and 
then  their  families  must  be  supported      He  had  but 
one  reply  for  them  as  he  closed  his  audiences, 
"  Go  to  doing  something  useful,  then. 
His   acquaintances  saw  new  expressions  on  his 
fece-the    open,    boyish   look   had    gone,    and    his 
voTce   had   new   tones   of  decision;    his    step   had 
Ir^vn  firmer  and  his  eyes  met  a  glance  with  a  rie w 
Steadiness.     Some  said  he  was  only  plunging  him- 
f  so  deeply  into  business  that  he  cared  nothing 
fo      to    make   himself    forget   his    bitter    troubles 
O  kers  thought  he  was  developing  exactly  as  his 
?a  h      was.  hard  and  close  in  business,  but  never  the 
•on;  social  soul  among  his  equals.     But  either  ex 
ilan'ation  was  equally  hopeless  to  the  workmen  m 
[he  Breton  Mills,  who  had  counted  on  his  easy  gen- 
erosity and  business  indifference  to  loosen  the  hard 
bonds  that  held  them  down,  and  open  up  to  them  the 
good  things  of  the  world  they  had  longed  for  in  vain 
SO  long. 


202  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

On  one  morning  the  three  men  who  had  been 
once  on  the  fire  escape  committee,  met  in  the  door- 
way of  number  2  mill,  restored  after  the  fire.  They 
had  left  their  work  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air. 

*' He  is  closer  than  his  father;  he  scrimps  and 
saves  like  a  poor  cuss  trying  to  support  a  family  on 
five  dollars  the  week.     What  show  is  there  for  us  ?  " 

''  Ye'll  mind  it's  all  jist  as  I  told  ye,  Bill  Rogers," 
suggested  Graves,  with  the  comfort  of '  I  told  you 
so  '  left  to  him  out  of  the  general  wreck.  ''  Jist  as  I 
told  ye  that  night  more'n  a  six  month  ago  in  front 
of  old  Breton's.  As  soon  as  the  lad  feels  his  oats 
that's  the  last  of  his  kind  heart." 

'*  The  boy's  had  hard  luck  since  then,"  said 
Rogers,  handling  his  pipe  out  of  old  force  of  habit. 
"  P'r'aps  he's  punishin'  us  for  it.  It  seems  so  strange 
somehow  his  changin'  all  so  sudden." 

"  'Taint  that,"  said  Graves,  as  he  turned  to  go 
back  to  work,  and  then  lingering  a  moment  longer, 
"  It  is  the  natur  of  a  man  and  crops  out  as  sure  as 
he  gets  his  swing.  There  aint  a  one  of  us  but  would 
make  a  meaner  rich  man  than  him.  It  comes  easy 
to  be  a  labor  reformer  and  radical  as  long  as  a  fellow 
is  poor,  and  it's  just  as  easy  for  a  man  to  talk  beauti- 
ful if  he  aint  looked  to  to  do  nothing.  But  it  makes 
a  man  drunk,  when  he  feels  the  reins  in  his  hands 
and  him  nothin'  but  a  man  of  the  same  stuff  as  the 
rest  on  us.     Look  at  Curran  now,  how  much  better'n 


WHAT   WILL   THEY  FETCH ?  203 

the  rest  Is  he?  He  deserted  us  at  the  most  critical 
moment.  Somethin'  made  him  throw  us  up  as  if 
we  had  all  of  a  sudden  sickened  on  his  stomach. 
We're  poor  stuff,  all  on  us,  boys.  I  never  seen  a 
finer  feller  than  that  Curran,  but  he's  forgot  all 
about  the  wrongs  and  rights  he  used  to  holler  so 
purty  about.  There's  no  chance  for  us  in  any  man's 
mercy  ;  we  must  depend  on  ourselves." 

At  this  very  moment  Philip  Breton  was  pressing 
the  little  brass  bell  on  his  counting-room  table.  For 
an  answer  his  paymaster  came  in  with  his  pen,  wet 
from  the  ink,  in  his  hand. 

"  Do  we  pay  our  help  enough  ?  " 

A  thousand  eager  voices  would  have  shouted  a 
no  to  him  that  would  have  shaken  the  very  founda- 
tions of  stone,  but  Mr.  Jennings,  the  paymaster,  put 
his  pen  behind  his  ear,  took  it  down,  looked  keenly 
at  it,  then  in  surprise  at  the  young  mill-owner. 

''We  can  get  a  thousand  as  good  for  the  same, 
if  that  is  what  you  mean."^'  Ah,  what  chance  have 
the  poor  mills-people,  when  the  young  master 
chooses  such  advisers  as  this  ? 

''  No  !  "  said  Philip  slowly.  "  It  isn't  exactly 
what  I  mean  ;  can  we  raise  the  wages  ?  " 

"  Can  you,  why  yes,  I  suppose  you  can  step  right 
into  the  mills  and  give  a  hundred  dollar  bill  to  every 
hand.  But  you  couldn't  afford  to  do  that  way  long, 
and  I  don't  think  it  would  do  anybody  any  good.     I 


204  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

wouldn't  assume  to  advise  you,  sir,  but  why  not  just 
as  well  go  up  street  and  insist  on  paying  a  fancy 
price  for  your  flour." 

"■  But  don't  they  find  it  hard  to  live  on  what  we 
give  them?  and  what  a  life  it  is  at  that,"  suggested 
Philip  sadly.  Apparently  he  had  not  quite  forgot- 
ten them. 

"  No  doubt,  no  doubt  ! ''  repeated  the  paymaster 
with  the  querulousness  of  his  class,  "  but  is  there 
any  sense  in  putting  in  your  or  my  fiat — you  can't 
make  a  ninety  cent  laborer  worth  a  dollar  and  a 
quarter  by  giving  it  to  him.  You  insult  him,  and 
damage  business  by  making  it  all  uncertain  with  the 
gratuitous  element." 

"  I  see  you  don't  believe  in  benevolence,  my  dear 
Jennings/'  and  Philip  smiled  curiously. 

"  Yes  I  do,  for  sick  people  and  paupers,  but  if 
you  don't  want  to  make  paupers  of  everybody  you 
mustn't — " 

"  But  I  am  not  a  pauper,  and  I  never  earned  a 
penny  in  my  life  till  a  few  months  ago  "  Philip's 
eyes  flashed  at  a  sudden  revelation. 

"  But,  ah — but  that  is  different.  Drop  that  then. 
To  make  our  cloth,  there  are  a  number  of  expenses, 
there  is  the  mill  and  the  machinery,  the  money 
locked  up  in  fabrics  and  material.  These  are  fixed, 
you  don't  think  it  your  duty  to  pay  extra  prices  for 
raw  material  ;  nor  make  a  gratuity  with  every  dol- 


WHAT  WILL   THEY  FETCH  ^  20$ 

lar  you  spend  on  machinery,  no  matter  how  poor  the 
man  that  sells  to  you.  Now  comes  another  ele- 
ment, Labor.  That  should  be  as  fixed  as  the  rest, 
and  all  calculations  based  on  its  market  price.  When 
you  go  to  market  with  your  cloth,  you  don't  ask  any 
gratuity,  nor  does  the  buyer  claim  any,  the  price  is 
fixed  better  than  the  caprice  of  a  moment  could  fix 
it.  The  element  of  labor  enters  into  the  cost,  the 
difference  between  the  cost  and  price  is  your  profit. 
If  labor  stands  you  in  its  market  price,  your  profit 
will  reward  your  efforts,  and  it  will  pay  you  to  keep 
up  your  mill.  If  you  paid  higher  wages  your  profits 
would  be  small,  you  would  give  up  your  enterprise, 
and  alj  would  suffer." 

"  I  didn't  know  you  could  be  so  eager.  But  sup- 
posing they  tell  me  my  profit  is  too  large,  that  my 
labor  pays  me  so  well,  I  ought  to  make  it  up  to 
them."  The  young  proprietor  was  looking  musingly 
out  of  the  window  where  the  autumn  wind  was  chas- 
ing the  russet  leaves  in  savage  glee.  Mr.  Jennings 
the  paymaster  had  reached  the  door,  but  waited  a 
moment  to  clinch  his  argument. 

"  Then  if  you  lost  money,  your  help  ought  to 
contribute.  But  it  might  not  be  at  all  their  fault 
that  you  lost,  any  more  than  it  is  to  their  credit  you 
succeed.  Their  labor  in  quantity  and  quality  would 
be  just  the  same.  What  reason  in  changing  its 
valuation  ?  No,  I  am  sure  there  isn't  but  one  way,  to 


206  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

measure  the  value  of  your  labor  as  you  do  every- 
thing else,  by  what  it  will  bring." 

"  Not  quite  everything,"  said  Philip,  but  he  said 
it  so  low,  the  argumentative  Jennings  did  not  hear 
it.     All  he  heard  was  just  as  he  was  closing  his  door. 

*'  Please  send  in  the  overseer  of  number  i 
weave  room." 

It  was  but  a  few  moments,  during  which  Philip 
did  not  move  from  his  seat  when  the  overseer  came 
in,  stroking  his  apron  deferentially. 

"  Mr.  Bright,  the  men  and  girls  complain  ;  they 
say  they  ought  to  be  paid  by  the  day  instead  of  by 
the  piece." 

"Which  ones  complain?  The  lazy  ones,  I 'guess. 
Why  surely  Mr.  Breton,  it  wouldn't  be  right  to  pay 
the  best  weaver  and  the  poorest  the  same." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Philip  with  unchanged  fea- 
tures, watching  the  look  of  astonishment  that  shone 
on  the  man's  round  fat  face.  "  Why  not,  if  we  paid 
them  all  the  highest  price  ?  " 

"  Well  sir,  it  wouldn't  be  a  month  before  bad  and 
good  would  all  be  worth  about  the  same,  and  that 
as  little  as  the  poorest  of  them.  It  would  be  a  poor 
way  to  encourage  them  to  be  smart." 

"  Does  Graves  work  in  your  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  he  asked  out  for  this  mornin' — his — " 

''Send  him  in  if  you  can  find  him."  Philip  rose 
to  his  feet  now,  and  was  walking  the  room  impa- 


WHA  T  WILL   THE  Y  FE  TCH  ?  20/ 

tiently  when  John  Graves  slouched  in.  He  turned 
on  him  as  if  he  was  going  to  strike,  but  it  was  only 
a  question  he  hurled  at  him. 

"■  What  do  you  think  ought  to  be  changed  in  the 
mill?     Speak  up  now,  and  let  me  know  your  mind." 

*'  I    think  we  work  too  hard  for  our  pay  then,' 
drawled  the  laborer,  but  his  mind  was  in  an  unusually 
excited  condition. 

"  That  is  because  the  public  want  such  goods  as 
ours  so  cheap." 

"  There's  other  things  to  cut  on  besides  labor  for- 
ever and  ever.  Oh,  no,  ye  can't  buy  poor  cotton,  it 
would  show  in  the  cloth,  ye  can't  save  on  machinery, 
it  would  spoil  yer  sales,  but  if  we  carders  and  weavers 
and  spinners  be  cut,  it  don't  leave  a  mark  on  the 
cloth.  But  it  leaves  deep  gashes  in  our  hearts  and 
joys,  you  be  sure."  Graves  looked  at  the  young 
man  to  see  if  he  might  go  on,  but  he  could  not  read 
his  face.  He  hesitated  a  moment  and  then  he  con- 
tinued, 

''  There  aint  a  poor  bent  girl  in  the  mill  but 
might  live  a  life  so  happy  it  would  make  a  strong 
man  cry  to  think  of  it.  We  are  of  more  account  than 
your  machinery.  No  beltin'  or  patent  self-acting 
springs  could  do  our  work  ;  it  takes  immortal  souls, 
and  intellects  in  the  image  of  God  to  do  it.  It's  the 
same  sort  of  work  you  do,  and  compare  what  the  two 
of  us  gets.     We  aint  paid  till  we  gets,  the  weakest 


208  THE  BRETON  MILLS 

of  US,  a  taste  of  the  sweet  things  in  this  world  we 
have  longed  for  so  long.  I  don't  care  what  yer  wise 
book-men  says."  Was  the  young  proprietor  angry, 
he  stood  so  grave  and  still  ?  What  a  change  !  Time 
was  when  pity  would  have  shone  on  every  line  of 
his  face.  But  he  might  have  been  a  statue  for  all 
appearance  of  melting  in  him  now. 

''  I  pay  you  the  market  price,  as  much  as  the 
other  mills." 

Well,  God  have  mercy  on  his  poor  children,  if 
Philip  Breton  could  make  that  excuse !  The  man 
sat  down  without  an  invitation,  and  leaned  his 
brawny  elbows  on  the  table. 

'*  Now  see  here,  you  told  me  to  speak  my  mind, 
and  I  am  a  goin'  to.  We  are  poor ;  we  aint  got 
nothin'  ;  we  can't  lay  back  and  wait  for  our  price  ; 
we  want  somethin'  to  eat  to-day ;  we  come  to  you 
for  work  ;  we  must  have  work,  if  it  only  earns  us  a 
loaf  of  bread.  Is  it  right,  then,  to  value  us  at  what 
we  can  be  got  for?  If  we  could  haggle  with  ye,  and 
hang  off  the  way  a  little  ready  cash  lets  a  man  do, 
there  might  be  some  sense  in  it.  But  you  never  let 
us  get  enough  ahead  for  that;  it's  work  or  go  hun- 
gry with  us.  The  poorer  we  gets,  the  tighter  ye 
can  squeeze  us,  and  I  sometimes  wonder  why  ye 
gives  us  as  much  as  ye  do  ;  I  s'pose  a  man  might  live 
on  a  little  less.     And  it's  all  business,  as  ye  say." 

Philip  had  seated  himself,  but  he  said   nothing. 


WHAT  WILL   THEY  FETCH?  209 

He  had  given  the  man  the  privilege   of  his  tongue, 
and  he  did  not  seem  disposed  to  stop  him. 

''  Is  the  right  price  of  a  thing  what  a  man'll  give 
for  it  ?  If  they  had  it,  men  would  give  a  million  of 
dollars  for  a  breath  of  air,  when  they're  stifled. 
Would  it  be  right  to  pump  off  the  air,  and  then  let 
it  on  at  a  million  dollars  a  breathing?  If  you  was 
drowning,  you'd  give  a  million  to  be  saved  if  it  was 
only  to  hold  out  a  pole  to  yer.  Is  that  a  fair  price 
for  holdin'  out  a  pole?  We're  starvin'  unless  we 
can  get  a  bite  to  eat  ;  is  it  any  more  right  to  bar- 
gain with  us  for  a  life  of  hard  work,  for  just  enough 
to  live  on  ?  A  man  wants  somethin'  besides  to  eat  ; 
he  wants  to  send  his  children  to  school,  to  get  a 
loafin'  hour  now  and  then,  to  make  himself  somethin' 
besides  a  brute,  he  wants — he  wants  some  such 
things  and  chances  as  you  have.  Why,  squire,  we're 
all  men  together."  The  man's  eyes  looked  across 
at  Philip  with  a  vague  wistfulness,  as  if  he  was 
thinking  of  the  beautiful  possibilities  of  a  life  so  far 
all  drudgery  and  want. 

"  But  what  is  there  to  do?"  exclaimed  Philip  in 
an  impatient  tone,  that  put  to  flight  all  the  work- 
man's foolish  fancies.  The  young  man's  heart 
seemed  changed  to  flint.  ''You  don't  want  to  be 
objects  of  charity,  do  you  ?" 

John    Graves  straightened  his    arms  along   the 
table,  then  he  stood  up. 
14 


2IO  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  Charity  !  Well,  no,  not  such  charity  as  picks  a 
creature  up  to-day  as  soft  as  a  baby,  and  drops  him 
to-morrow  like  a  dog.  But  if  payin'  yer  help 
enough  of  yer  gains,  so  they  can  know  what  life  is — 
if  that  is  charity,  as  you  call  it,  give  it  to  us.  Ye 
needn't  be  so  precious,  fraid  of  hurtin'  the  laboring 
classes,  as  they  call  'em,  by  treatin'  'em  too  well. 
They're  sinkin'  every  day  lower  and  lower,  and  lots 
of  fellows  in  specs,keep  a  warnin'  you  not  to  spoil  'em, 
not  to  hurt  their  pride,  or  break  their  spirit  by  givin* 
'em  nothin'.  As  if  kindness  ever  hurt  any  human 
soul.  Not  that  I  would  call  it  charity  ;  they  earns 
every  mite  ye'll  ever  give  'em." 

*'  But  if  the  mills  or  employers  don't  make  such 
gains  as  you  seem  to  take  for  granted. — " 

"  If  there  aint  money  made,  why,  nobody  can 
find  no  fault  not  to  get  big  pay.  All  I  mean  is, 
when  money  is  made,  and  that's  pretty  often,  we 
oueht  to  have  some  share  in  it." 

"  Don't  go,  John,  I  want  to  ask  you — " 

'*  I  must,  I  asked  out  for  to-day,"  and  the  door 
closed  after  the  man.  For  quite  a  while  after  his 
last  visitor  had  gone,  Philip  sat  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  door-knob,  in  intense  abstraction.  Was  he 
angry  at  the  audacity  of  the  common  laborer?  was 
he  wondering  at  the  independence  of  speech  and  de- 
meanor that  lives  in  a  race,  long  after  the  last  sem- 
blance of  real  freedom   is  gone  ?    When  he  pushed 


WHA  T  WILL   THE  Y  FE  TCH  '^  211 

back  his  chair  and  rose  to  his  feet,  running  his  hands 
through  his  hair,  he  made  one  exclamation  :" 

"  How  blind."  But  whom  he  meant,  whether  his 
class  or  the  laborers,  did  not  appear  from  his  tone  or 
from  the  bitter  smile  on  his  lips.  That  question  was 
a  vital  one  for  the  factory  village  of  Bretonville. 
John  Graves  would  have  told  in  a  moment  that  the 
young  proprietor  meant  no  good  to  his  help.  The 
man  had  had  a  glimmer  of  hope  that  Philip  Breton 
might  only  be  waiting  for  an  opportunity,  but  this 
interview  had  dispelled  it  from  his  mind. 

It  was  some  little  time  afterwards  that  Philip  left 
his  counting-room  and  made  his  way  up  the  street. 
He  was  dressed  in  somberest  black,  and  his  silk  hat 
was  subdued  with  a  wide  band  of  crape.  But  his 
dress  was  no  more  melancholy  than  his  face.  When 
under  pressure  of  business,  one  would  not  have  no- 
ticed it  so  especially,  but  the  instant  he  was  thrown 
back  upon  himself,  his  face  became  as  sad  and  hope- 
less as  the  face  of  the  most  wretched  laborer  in  his 
mill.  He  was  tasting  the  most  bitter  dregs  in  life,  he 
thought,  what  soul  could  be  more  crushed  than  his? 
The  time  was,  when  it  would  have  been  impossible  for 
him  to  see  a  human  creature  suffer  without  a  thrill 
of  sympathy  ;  it  would  have  seemed  a  cruel  and  un- 
natural stroke  of  fortune,  which  it  was  for  him  to 
prevent  or  cure.  But  he  had  learned  better,  he 
thought.     Suffering  was  common  to  all,  there  was  no 


2 1 2  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

good  of  trying  to  patch  up  this  Hfe  or  that,  the  terri- 
ble disease  was  forever  at  work.  Conditions  made 
but  little  difference,  rich  and  poor,  high  and  low, 
agonized  together  over  some  form  of  broken  hope, 
some  unsatisfied  hunger. 

The  chapel  door  stood  open,  and  he  stopped  and 
looked  in.  It  was  here  Bertha  and  he  were  to  have 
been  married.  And  it  would  have  been  before  this  — 
but  now. — He  saw  the  place  where  they  would  have 
stood  together.  The  church  was  empty  and  he 
walked  softly  in  as  if  afraid  of  disturbing  the  ghosts 
of  his  dead  hopes,  who  haunted  yet,  perhaps,  the 
sacred  spot  they  glorified  in  all  the  dreams  of  his 
early  manhood.  He  walked  wearily  up  the  echoing 
aisle  and  threw  himself  into  a  seat.  He  bowed  his 
head  upon  the  back  of  the  pew  in  front  of  him. 
Had  he  no  shame  to  come  to  the  rescue  of  his  broken 
heart ;  would  he  grieve  forever  over  a  woman  that  had 
become  another  man's  wife  ?  She  had  called  on  the 
laws  of  the  land  for  her  protection  ;  he  had  no  right 
to  even  think  of  her  now.  She  was  shut  away  from 
him  forever,  it  was  become  a  sin  for  him  now  to  long 
for  her,  though  she  had  been  so  nearly  his  own  wife. 
There  was  no  place  in  the  world  for  unmated  lovers 
like  him.  If  she  had  not  married  that  man. —  How 
strange  that  he  had  heard  nothing  of  that  marriage, 
her  note  had  not  mentioned  it  and  no  one  had  spoken 
of  it  since.     Why  his  behef  in  her  purity  was  so  abso- 


WHA  T  WILL   THE  V  FE  TCH  ?  2 1 3 

lute,  he  had  not  even  thought  to  question  it,  and 
now  it  was  Hke  a  guilty  thing,  that  he  permitted  him- 
self to  entertain  for  a  moment  terrible  fears.  If  she 
had  never  gone  with  him  he  might  have  been  happy, 
but  since  she  had  gone  with  him,  Philip  would  rather 
suffer  as  he  did  for  all  eternity  than  that  she  should 
not  have  married  the  man.  What  vengeance  would 
be  stern  and  relentless  enough  for  him  who  had 
wrecked  the  noblest  womanhood  in  the  world,  who 
had  sullied  a  purity  like  an  angel's,  and  insulted  a 
sacred  dignity  like  Bertha's?  Oh,  it  could  not  be, 
no  man  on  earth  could  have  been  so  bold,  so  impious. 
How  wild  his  imagination  had  become. 

*'  Oh,  I  didn't  know  but  it  was  young  Breton  and 
that  Bertha  Ellingsworth  that  was  going  to  be  mar- 
ried." Two  graceless  women  had  come  in  and 
seated  themselves  in  a  neighboring  pew.  He  had 
been  thinking  so  intensely  till  now  an  earthquake 
would  hardly  have  disturbed  him. 

"  That'll  never  be,"  giggled  the  other,  "  You  don't 
say  you  didn't  know  she  eloped  with  that  Curran 
fellow?     Though  it's  been  kept  pretty  still." 

''  Do  tell  !  "  Philip  shuddered.  Why  were  creat- 
ures like  these  permitted  to  touch  names  like 
Bertha's  ?  *'  Married  another  chap,  eh,  well  young 
Breton  never  was  much  for  looks  anyhow." 

"  Married  !  "  Philip  started  at  her  tone,  "  Who  said 
she  was   married  ?     The   shoe's   on   the   other   foot. 


2 1 4  THE  BRE  TON  Mil  L  S. 

She  aint  married  at  all ;  I  know ;  don't  handsome 
fellows  like  him  has  a  wife  in  every  town,  such  as 
they  be,  that  proud  minx  is  only  one  on  'em."  How 
they  rolled  the  shameful  story,  like  a  sweet  morsel 
under  their  tongues,  as  if  it  relieved  the  blackness 
of  their  contemptible  souls,  that  one  woman  more 
had  singed  her  angel  wings  in  the  pitiless  flame  of 
disgrace. 

Philip  had  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  women 
blushed  like  fire  and  tried  to  look  unconscious,  but 
he  did  not  even  glance  at  them  as  he  moved  down 
the  aisle.  He  could  not  see  very  well;  was  the 
chapel  full  as  it  seemed  ?  and  was  that  an  usher  in 
white  kids  who  was  coming  toward  him  and  saying, 

"  Just  one  minute  more ;  the  bridal  couple  are 
just  coming  in  ?  " 

Bolt  upright  he  sat  where  he  had  been  guided, 
and  saw  as  in  a  dream  a  white  phantom  of  a  woman 
it  seemed,  and  a  black  shadow  of  a  man  go  by. 
*'  Married  ;  who  said  she  was  married?  ah  it  was  hor- 
rible !  Perhaps  they  two  those  women  fiends,  and  the 
one  who  had  told  the  knowing  one  of  them,  were  all 
that  knew  the  shameful  secret.  Would  it  do  any 
good  to  pray  them  for  the  mercy  of  God  to  keep  it, 
would  money  hire  a  woman  to  keep  a  disgrace  that 
had  fallen  on  a  fair  sister's  name?  " 

"  Aren't  you  going  to  salute  the  bride  ?  "  smiled 
an  acquaintance.    "  This  is  the  marriage  of  Labor  and 


IV//A  T   WILL   THE  Y  FETCH?  21  5 

Capital  at  last."  He  had  perpetrated  his  witticism  a 
dozen  times  at  least,  and  this  was  the  first  who  had 
not  lau-hed.  Jane  Graves  and  Silas  Ellingsworth, 
Bertha's  father— were  they  mad,  or  was  he? 

''  I   am    ill,"    he   muttered    incoherently,  as    he 
pushed  his  way  almost  roughly  out. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

Tea  for  an  Old  Wonian. 

THE  terrible  seeds  of  suspicion  sown  in  Philip 
Breton's  mind  bore  the  bitterest  fruits  through 
the  dreary  winter  months.  No  effort  of  his  will,  nor 
course  of  reasoning,  could  comfort  him.  For  a 
moment  he  might  find  relief — but  his  torment  would 
only  return  afresh.  Humanity  are  slow  to  believe 
good  of  fellow-creatures,  but  nothing  is  too  bad  to 
be  true.  He  thought  it  might  have  calmed  him  to 
have  been  assured  even  of  the  worst ;  he  believed  that 
then  he  might  despise  the  woman  he  had  elevated 
to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  his  ideal  temple  of  woman- 
hood, if  she  had  made  so  little  of  the  most  sacred 
gift  of  God.  But  it  would  have  been  a  violence  to  his 
feelings,  he  could  not  endure  to  inquire  of  those  who 
must  know.  Her  father  knew,  but  his  smiling  face 
revealed  nothing  and  his  very  reserve  was  peopled 
with  horrors  for  Philip.  His  wife  Jane  must  know 
too,  but  he  could  not  bear  to  think  of  the  malicious 
pleasure  she  would  take  in  detailing  the  shameful 
story  to  him.  She  would  sate  her  hate  in  his  misery. 
But   if  it  were   not  a  shameful  story — still  he  could 


TEA  FOR  AN  OLD    WOMAN.  2\J 

not  form  his  lips  to  ask,  the  humiliation  of  such  a 
question  from  him,  a  discarded  lover,  about  her  at 
whose  feet  he  had  been  proud  to  sit,  shocked  him 
into  silence.  He  even  dreaded  lest  they  might  speak 
to  him,  but  it  had  been  months  since  he  had  heard 
Bertha's  name  once  breathed. 

It  was  the  morning  of  a  day  at  the  very  close  of 
winter  that  the  operatives  in  the  Breton  Mills  gath- 
ered in  astonished  groups  before  a  number  of  white 
posters  in  the  entrances.  They  were  printed  in  the 
largest  and  plainest  of  type  but  the  people  read  them 
as  if  they  were  in  some  foreign  language.  And  the 
ideas  called  up  seemed  common-place  enough,  but 
it  was  only  after  reading  them  over  and  over  and  an 
exhaustive  interchange  of  explanations,  that  the 
groups  broke  up  with  looks  of  surprised  satisfaction 
on  their  faces.     This  was  what  they  read  : 

^'  The  paymaster  or  his  clerks  will  be  in  the 
south  office  Monday  and  Thursday  evenings.  Any 
of  the  help  needing  coal  or  groceries  can  obtain 
them  of  him  at  cost  hereafter.  Those  who  cannot 
pay  cash  will  be  advanced  goods  on  account  of  un- 
paid wages  due  them." 

But  long  and  cruel  experience  of  the  selfish  prin- 
ciples, of  which  they  are  victims,  has  created  a  deep 
feeling  of  distrust  in  the  poorer  classes.  Their  bitter 
complaints  against  hardships  that  seemed  intolerable 
have  been   silenced  so  long  by  the  catch  words  of 


2 1 8  THE  BRE  TON  MIL L S. 

"business,"  "political  economy,"  "competition," 
^'  supply  and  demand,"  that  they  have  grown  to  ac- 
cept the  melancholy  view  that  there  is  no  honesty 
but  policy,  no  fairness  but  necessity,  no  pretence  of 
either  but  has  some  business  trick  for  its  motive. 
So  as  the  mill  hands  scattered  to  their  work  they 
grew  suspicious  again.  The  smile  of  satisfaction 
that  had  lit  up  their  faces  at  first  gave  place  to  a 
smile  of  cunning,  as  each  for  himself  devised  some 
possible  profit  to  the  wealthy  mill-owner  in  this  fair 
looking  scheme  of  benevolence. 

"  He  don't  mean  nobody  else  shall  cheat  us  any- 
how," suggested  Bill  Rogers,  incautiously. 

"You  always  was  a  fool.  Bill  Rogers,"  drawled 
John  Graves.  "The  whole  thing's  as  plain  as  day- 
light, and  I  tell  ye  the  lad's  shrewd,  too,  he  beats  the 
old  man.  He  sees  a  big  chance  in  keeping  store  for 
his  help  ;  they'll  all  have  to  trade  with  him,  you  bet." 

"  But  don't  the  posters  say  that  everything's  to 
go  for  cost?" 

"  Yes,  for  what  they'll  cost  you.  I'd  rather  see 
his  profit  and  loss  account  than  trust  his  word." 
John  Graves  had  on  a  better  coat  and  hat  than  had 
ever  fallen  to  his  lot  before,  but  apparently  his  pros- 
perity had  not  turned  him  into  an  aristocrat.  His 
daughter  might  have  married  young  Breton  himself, 
he  had  learned  his  lessons  in  too  terrible  a  school  to 
forget  them. 


TEA  FOR   AN  OLD   WOMAN.  219 

"  I  thought  now  'twould  be  a  big  savin*.  Why  I 
s'pose  there  aint  a  store  hardly  but  makes  two  thou- 
sand dollars  right  straight  out  of  our  poor  pay.  If 
that  was  divided  back  amongst  the  customers  'twould 
be  quite  a  help.  I  see  the  rest  on  ye  looks  kind  o' 
sour,  but  I  don't  see  for  the  life  of  me  why  'taint  a 
big  thing  for  us.  It  aint  right  to  make  us  support 
all  these  store-keepers,  they  don't  make  or  raise  the 
stuff  we  eats,  they  only  clips  their  livin'  off  of  it 
'fore  we  gets  what  we  pays  for."  Two  or  three  men 
stopped,  as  they  went  by,  to  see  Bill  Rogers  make  a 
speech,  and  the  girls  giggled  and  looked  over  their 
shoulders.  Rogers  was  the  picture  of  awkwardness 
as  he  tried  to  scrape  up  a  little  pile  of  dust  with  his 
great  boot. 

**  It's  such  innocent  cusses  as  you  just  encourage 
the  upper  crust  to  press  down  on  us.  Yer  right,  the 
store-keepers  will  lose  their  livin'  if  we  all  buy  of 
Breton,  but  he  will  just  be  so  much  the  richer.  He 
aint  satisfied  with  grindin'  us,  he  wants  all  the  good 
things  he  can  get  his  greedy  eyes  on." 

Friday  evening  the  walls  of  the  south  office,  as  it 
was  called,  were  lined  with  merchandise,  such  as  is 
the  first  necessity  of  existence.  On  the  floor  were 
barrels  of  flour  and  sugar,  and  baskets  of  eggs  and 
potatoes  ;  brooms  and  pails,  oil  and  molasses  barrels 
on  tap,  crockery  and  lamps  and  cutlery  showed  out 
of  glass  doors,  and  chests  of  tea  and  coffee  and  boxes 


220  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

of  all  conceivable  sizes  and  patterns  packed  the 
shelves.  The  paymaster  stood  behind  his  new  desk 
with  a  distressed  look  on  his  face,  as  if  his  life  had 
suddenly  become  a  burden  to  him,  and  his  clerks 
stood  about  the  room  with  most  disgusted  expres- 
sions on  their  countenances  and  in  their  very  atti- 
tude for  the  new  occupation  that  had  been  assigned 
them.  Every  two  or  three  minutes  the  mill-owner 
looked  in  to  see  how  much  trade  \vas  doing,  and  then 
resumed  his  nervous  walk  along  the  hall.  Now  he 
turned  into  his  office  and  made  as  if  he  would  sit 
down,  but  would  go  out  again  and  walk  instead  to 
the  piazza  door  and  look  up  the  street  and  calculate, 
how  many  of  the  patches  of  particular  blackness  he 
could  make  out  in  the  distance  were  operatives  in 
his  mills  hastening  to  buy  at  his  new  store.  But 
strange  enough,  the  trade  on  this,  his  opening  night, 
was  very  light.  A  great  many  came  in  and  stared 
about,  and  asked  prices.  But  when  the  impatient 
clerks  wanted  to  sell  them  a  gallon  of  this  fabulously 
cheap  and  yet  first  brand  oil,  or  a  quart  of  the 
molasses  almost  for  nothing,  or  a  pound  of  these 
delicious  crackers  for  a  mere  pittance,  most  of  them 
shied  off  like  a  skittish  horse.  A  few  made  pur- 
chases and  betrayed  astonishment,  in  spite  of  them- 
selves, at  how  much  they  got  for  their  money,  and 
though  the  rest  looked  at  them  for  remarkable  curi- 
osities of  enterprise,  the  buyers  hugged  their  bundles 


TEA  FOR  AN  OLD   WOMAN.  221 

as  if  they  were  afraid  of  losing  such  rare  acquisitions, 
and  went  out  in  high  glee. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  paymaster  and  his  clerks 
came  into  the  proprietor's  office,  and  took  the  chairs 
he  motioned  them  to,  in  significant  silence.  They 
apparently  had  something  unpleasant  on  their  minds, 
and  were  not  judicious  enough  to  see  that  Philip 
Breton  was  fretted  and  dangerous.  They  might 
have  seen  from  the  way  he  closed  his  lips,  and  the 
fact  that  he  forgot  his  usual  smile,  that  it  was  a  poor 
time  for  any. — 

*'  Well  gentlemen — "  he  did  not  even  wait  for 
them  to  begin.  "  I  suppose  you  don't  like  your  new 
employment."  There  was  time  for  them  to  smooth 
matters  over  even  now,  but — 

"Well,  that's  what  we  came  in  to  say,"  began 
Jennings,  who  had  seen  Philip  grow  up  from  a  boy, 
and  had  no  terror  of  him,  any  more  than  a  keeper  of 
a  young  lion  which  he  handled  when  a  whelp.  "  Our 
business  is  book-keeping,  and  selling  a  pound  of  tea 
to  an  old  woman  don't  come  easy." 

''  You  would  like  me  to  give  up  my  plan,  would 
you  ?  "  The  black  eyes  of  the  young  proprietor 
rested  curiously  on  them.  His  tone  was  smooth  so 
far. 

"I  don't  think  it  will  amount  to  anything;  you 
can't  sell  all  your  stuff,  and  some  will  spoil  on  your 
hands." 


222  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  That  will  be  a  part  of  the  cost  just  as  freight  is. 
I  don't  expect  to  save  the  cost,  that  would  be  im- 
possible, but  the  profit,  I  believe  it  is  my  duty  to 
save  my  poor  help." 

"  I  suppose  our  extra  work  will  be  a  part  of  the 
cost  too — " 

*'  I  consider  that  is  paid  for  already.  It  would  save 
them  something  if  I  had  to  hire  help  even,"  Philip 
went  on  slowly,  *'  but  you  see  my  special  advantage  is 
that  my  help  is  salaried  already,  salaried  abundantly." 

His  meaning  dawned  on  the  paymaster  and  his 
two  clerks,  and  their  faces  flushed  like  sunrise. 

*'And  do  you  expect  us  to  turn  ourselves  into 
petty  shop-keepers  twice  a  week,  for  nothing,"  ex- 
claimed Jennings,  and  the  two  clerks  looked  indig- 
nant remonstrance. 

*'  Call  it  shop-keepers  if  you  like.  I  should  pre- 
fer, if  1  were  you,  to  consider  I  was  acting  as  almoner 
to  the  poor.  It  is  only  when  a  man  makes  a  gain 
out  of  small  dealings,  that  he  need  be  ashamed  ;  kind- 
ness in  little  things,  generosity  in  the  smallest  things 
even,  is  always  noble."  Philip's  eyes  danced  with  sar- 
castic humor.  "  I  wouldn't  humiliate  you  gentlemen, 
I  appreciate  your  sensitiveness,  I  wouldn't  think  of 
letting  you  make  a  penny  out  of  the  old  women  who 
want  a  pound  of  tea." 

*'  I  resign  !  "  cried  the  paymaster  rising,  "  to  take 
effect  immediately." 


TEA  FOR  AN  OLD   WOMAN.  223 

"  I  resign  !  "  echoed  the  insulted  clerks,  '^  to  take 
effect  to-night." 

Well  well,  mused  Philip,  I  suppose  they  will  stay 
around  a  day  or  two  more.  Now  I  am  sure  I  paid 
them  too  much. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Breton,  we  just  called  at 
your  house,  we  wanted  a  little — a — friendly  talk,  you 
know." 

The  three  grocery-men  of  Bretonville  filed  in 
with  melancholy  visages  distorted  in  a  frantic  at- 
tempt at  a  smile,  appropriate  of  course  to  the  friendly 
talk  that  was  coming. 

''  We  are  sure,"  began  the  one  of  them  that  was 
a  deacon  in  one  of  the  village  churches. 

"  I  have  no  patience  for  any  long  preamble,"  in- 
terrupted Philip,  ''  say  right  out  what  you  have  to 
say." 

''  Is  this  the  way  you  help  the  poor  then,"  snap- 
ped one  of  the  shop-keepers,  much  as  he  would  re- 
proach a  delinquent  debtor.  Philip  looked  at  them  in 
silence  for  a  moment.  "  And  so  I  shall  take  away 
your  means  of  livelihood,  shall  I  ?  "  he  said  at  last 
thoughtfully. 

"  Yes,"  urged  the  deacon  plaintively.  ''  No  doubt 
the  young  man  had 'not  calculated  so  far  as  to  see 
the  consequence  of  his  benevolence  to  such  worthy 
members  of  society." 

''And  if  I  made  a  free  gift  to  the  poor  in  the  vil- 


224  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

lage  of  all  the  necessaries  of  life,  it  would  wrong  you 
too,  would  it  ?  " 

''  Well,  you  put  in  queer,  but  I  suppose  we  would 
have  to  go  to  doing  something  else  for  a  living."  The 
deacon  laughed  uneasily.  Philip  rose  to  dismiss 
them. 

*'  I  can't  see  any  sense  in  your  laying  a  tribute  on 
every  mouthful  a  poor  man  wants  to  eat.  You 
don't  put  in  one  stroke  of  work  to  produce  the  food. 
Why  should  the  poor  have  to  contribute  of  the  little 
they  have  to  support  you  ?  If  the  race  of  middle- 
men who  stand  between  the  people  and  what  the 
world  has  for  them,  were  blotted  out  poverty  would 
turn  into  comparative  comfort." 

"  But  how  can  you  dispense  with  us?  " 

'*  I  think  the  experiment  is  worth  trying,  at 
least." 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

The  New  Stock  Company. 

THE  dry  goods  dealers  and  the  butchers  had  no 
kind  of  sympathy  for  the  villainous  grocery- 
men.  Their  extortions  were  positively  outrageous, 
and  it  was  good  enough  for  them  that  the  customers 
forsook  their  stores.  It  did  these  virtuous  merchants 
great  good  to  see  the  change  in  the  condition  of  the 
poor,  their  relief  from  imposition  produced  ;  they 
could  buy  so  much  better  clothes,  and  need  haggle 
so  little  over  the  difference  of  a  few  pennies  more  or 
less  in  price.  And  it  was  remarkable  how  much 
more  meat  they  could  buy  ;  why  it  quite  shocked  the 
generous  hearted  butchers,  to  find  how  many  fami- 
lies there  had  been  even  in  this  prosperous  village 
who  ate  meat  but  once  or  twice  a  week.  How  pleas- 
ant and  profitable  it  was  to  be  able  to  satisfy  their 
wants,  and  to  see  their  own  trade  well  nigh  doubling 
in  a  month  because  there  was  so  much  saved  on 
groceries.  But  imagine  the  disgust  of  the  dry  goods 
merchants  and  butchers,  when  word  was  brought  to 
their  blighted  homes  that  branches  had  been  opened 
in  the  mill  stores  to  cover  the  varieties  of  business 
15 


226  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

on  which  they  had  fattened  for  so  many  years. 
What  expletives  of  scorn  and  contempt  were  terrible 
enough  to  express  their  disapproval  of  the  quondam 
butcher  boy,  Philip  Breton  had  installed  over  his 
ridiculous  meat  market,  where  tender  juicy  steaks 
and  ribs  were  sold  so  cheap  almost  the  poorest  crea- 
ture in  Bretonville  could  hope  for  them.  And  then 
the  ex-dry-goods  clerk  who  worked  making  cloth  in 
the  day  time,  and  now  sold  it  two  evenings  in  a  week 
under  the  new  paymaster's  supervision  was  a  subject 
for  endless  mirth,  only  that  the  selling  prices  were  as 
low  as  the  village  merchants  could  buy  at.  A  gen- 
eral hegira  became  necessary  of  the  village  shop- 
keepers. Eight  men  with  their  indignant  wives  and 
shrewd  eyed  children,  shook  the  dust  of  the  ungrate- 
ful village  from  their  feet,  and  journeyed  westward 
where  there  yet  remained  towns  and  cities  perhaps 
that  had  not  learned  to  get  along  without  their  sort. 
The  results  of  Philip  Breton's  plan  were  very  re- 
markable in  the  little  world  that  revolved  about 
him.  Instead  of  raising  the  wages,  he  had  devised  a 
way  to  make  the  same  wages  go  a  great  deal  farther- 
It  amounted  to  raising  the  wages  of  his  help  twenty 
per  cent.,  and  all  it  cost  him  was  the  interest  on  the 
small  capital  locked  up  in  stock.  It  amounted  to 
dividing  up  among  the  poor  of  Bretonville  all  the 
money  which  went  for  the  rent  of  eight  stores,  with 
the  price  of  the  time  of  as  many  clerks,  and  the  sup- 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY.  22 7 

port  in  comparative  wealth,  of  eight  proprietors. 
Philip  did  not  have  to  watch  his  experiments  in  fear 
and  trembling,  lest  nobody  should  buy  ;  the  mill- 
stores  were  fairly  swarming  with  delighted  pur- 
chasers the  nights  when  opened,  and  the  fame  of 
them  traveled  hundreds  of  miles.  The  example  was 
followed  by  other  mill-owners  in  the  neighborhood, 
but  with  the  disinterested  principle  left  out.  Other 
proprietors  had  two  methods  of  reaping  a  profit  out 
of  store-keeping.  One  set  of  them  took  advantage  of 
the  cheaper  cost  of  living,  to  cut  down  the  wages  of 
their  help,  on  the  generally  accepted  axiom,  that 
wages  should  be  at  the  lowest  point  which  can  sus- 
tain life.  The  other  set  charged  a  profit  on  the 
goods  sold,  and  managed  to  get  back  again  nearly  a 
quarter  part  of  the  wages  of  their  help  before  a 
month  could  pass.  But  the  Breton  system  varied 
not  to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left  a  hair's  breadth, 
and  the  crushing  weight  of  poverty  was  lifted  a  lit- 
tle from  a  thousand  human  creatures  who,  for  the 
first  time,  saw  the  power  of  great  wealth  exerted  in 
their  favor. 

The  people  seemed  grateful  at  first,  but  the  pro- 
verbial ingratitude  of  their  class  asserted  itself  at  last. 
It  had  cost  the  proprietor  but  little,  and  after  all 
was  a  mere  ingenious  arrangement  to  make  the  poor 
wages  he  gave  them  quiet  their  loud  complaints.  It 
was  6nly  a  makeshift,  it  was  no  reform.     The  mill- 


228  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

owner  had  no  confidants,  but  from  all  signs,  he  had 
tried  his  only  innovation.  He  seemed  to  grow 
closer  every  day,  more  watchful  over  losses,  more 
stringent  on  expenses. 

One  evening  he  called  a  meeting  of  his  help,  and 
the  old  market-hall  was  packed  from  door  to  plat- 
form. Reporters  were  planted  by  their  tables,  to 
catch  every  word  of  the  mysterious  proceedings. 
Representatives  from  all  the  factories  in  the  coun- 
try elbowed  the  crowd  for  their  three  feet  of  stand- 
ing room,  eager  to  learn  some  new  device  for  mak- 
ing money  out  of  their  help  as  good  as  the  other. 
But  the  great  audience  was  strangely  silent ;  they 
knew  not  what  to  expect.  Perhaps  the  economical 
mill-owner  was  going  to  announce  a  new  reduction 
in  their  wages,  everybody  said  he  was  reducing 
everywhere.  Perhaps  he  had  some  new  plan  to  help 
them.  But  the  feeling  in  their  hearts  was  more  of 
fear  than  hope,  and  it  was  a  look  of  piteous  terror, 
almost,  that  they  cast  at  the  slight  form  in  black, 
that  came  forward  on  the  platform.  They  re- 
minded Philip  of  a  flock  of  frightened  sheep  that 
had  never  had  a  shepherd.  Then  he  thought  of  a 
great  army  massed  before  the  smoking  cannon- 
mouth,  an  army  that  had  never  had  a  general.  He 
saw  they  feared  him. 

"  This  village  is  happier  than  it  was  a  few 
months  ago.     I  have  tried  to  fulfill  a  little  of  my 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY.  229 

promise  to  }-ou."  A  murmur  of  applause  swept 
through  the  crowd  like  a  summer  breeze  through  a 
grove  of  pines,  and  then  it  was  still  again.  *'  But  all 
I  have  done  so  far,  is  to  keep  others  from  wronging 
you.  I  have  been  for  a  long  time  trying  to  think  of 
some  way  to  make  your  lives  more  fair  for  you,  and 
yet  be  fair  to  myself  and  my  class.  I  have  been  cutting 
on  expenses  to  make  the  w^hole  business  machinery  as 
economical  as  I  knew ;  at  last  I  am  ready  to  take  you 
into  my  confidence  and  make  you  a  proposal." 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  great  audience,  as  if  every 
man  changed  his  position  at  the  same  moment,  so 
as  to  be  sure  not  to  lose  one  precious  word  of  the 
new  gospel. 

"  I  cannot  feel  that  I  ought  to  give  you  any- 
thing. And  I  cannot  see  that  it  would  be  reason- 
able to  pay  more  wages  than  others  pay,  that  is, 
than  you  have  now." 

A  hush  had  fallen  upon  the  people  like  death. 
There  was  no  hope  for  them  then.  Still  the  speaker 
went  on. 

"  But  if  your  labor  is  profitable  to  me,  so  that  I 
can  pay  you  your  price,  and  pay  my  other  expenses, 
and  pay  me  for  the  time  I  give  to  the  business  what 
such  service  as  I  do  is  paid  elsewhere,  and  then  have 
something  besides — " 

The  reporters  dropped  their  pens  in  astonishment ; 
was  the  man  mad? 


230  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

''  I  am  disposed  to  think  that  you  have  earned  a 
share  in  it."  He  paused  to  catch  his  breath,  and  one 
could  have  heard  a  pin  fall  in  that  crowded  room. 
^'  My  capital  should  be  allowed  for  too,  In  a  word 
I  propose  to  divide  the  profits  of  my  mill,  after  all 
expenses  are  paid,  into  two  equal  parts  hereafter,  one 
for  labor,  yours  and  mine,  and  one  for  the  interest 
on  my  money.  The  part  which  belongs  to  labor  will 
be  distributed  according  to  the  worth  of  each  one's 
year's  work.  The  one  that  earns  the  largest  year's 
pay  will  have  the  largest  per  cent  of  that  dividend. 
We  shall  all  be  stockholders  together,  each  with  a 
share  large  or  small  according  to  the  value  of  his 
work." 

The  building  trembled  with  the  roar  of  applause 
that  went  up,  and  it  was  several  moments  before 
Philip  could  make  himself  heard  again.  He  had 
thought  there  was  nothing  left  in  his  life,  with  love 
gone  out  of  it,  but  as  he  stood  that  moment  with 
the  glad  shouts  of  the  poor  ringing  in  his  ears,  and 
felt  he  had  led  them  out  of  bondage,  his  heart  thrilled 
with  a  proud  joy  that  was  almost  ecstasy.  Right  or 
wrong  his  wealth  had  brought  him  a  happiness  that 
made  even  a  life  like  his  worth  living ;  had  conferred 
on  him  a  glorious  sense  of  the  dignity  of  manhood 
which  lifted  him  as  on  wings. 

But  they  must  listen  while  he  explained  the  terms 
of  his  plan   more   fully.     He   motioned   to  a  dozen 


THE  NEW  S  TO  CK  COM  PA  NY.  2  3  1 

boys  and  took  a  printed  sheet  of  paper  from  the  pile 
of  similar  sheets  whicli  he  ordered  distributed  among 
the  workmen.  He  then  read  aloud  the  following 
from  the  paper  in  his  hand. 

The  first  dividend  will  be  distributed  August  1st 
for  the  year  ending  July  ist.  The  surplus  is  §200, 
000.  $100,000  is  set  apart  as  the  allowance  for  capital 
invested,  which  leaves  $100,000,  to  be  distributed  to 
the  labor  in  proportion  to  the  wages  or  salary  earned 
by  each.  The  whole  amount  of  wages  and  salaries 
earned  in  the  mills  was  about  $360,000.  Therefore 
the  rate  per  cent  of  dividend  is  about  2J-^^  to  be 
calculated  on  the  wages  or  salary  of  each  man,  woman 
and  child  as  shown  by  the  paymaster's  book  for  the 
past  year.  For  example,  the  man  whom  the  pay-roll 
shows  to  have  earned  $300  for  his  year's  work,  will 
receive  2'j-f^  per  cent  on  S300  in  addition,  or  about 
$83.10  as  his  dividend.  The  paymaster,  who  re- 
ceived a  salary  of  $2,000,  will  receive  about  $554,  and 
as  manager  worth  a  salary  of  $5,000,  I  shall  receive 
more  than  twice  the  dividend  of  the  paymaster. 
Certain  restrictions  will  be  imposed.  1st.  Only  one- 
half  of  the  annual  dividend  will  be  in  cash,  for  it 
would  hurt  the  interests  of  the  mill  to  withdraw  so 
much  from  the  business.  The  other  half  will  be  in 
stock,  which  will  draw  dividends  as  the  rest  of  the 
capital.  2d.  Stock  cannot  be  transferred  only  to 
operatives,  but  will  be  redeemed  at  the  counting- 


232  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

room,  after  notice,  when  holders  leave  the  mills,  as 
stock  will  yield  dividends  only  while  holders  work  in 
the  mills.  Holders  of  stock  may  hold  meetings  and 
choose  a  committee  to  examine  the  books  of  the  com- 
pany, before  the  annual  distribution  of  dividends." 

When  Philip  Breton  sat  down  a  noisy  hum  of 
voices  followed,  as  the  people  read  and  commented 
upon  the  prospectus.  The  figures  looked  anything 
but  dull  to  them,  the  bright  possibilities  that  came 
up  before  their  imaginations  as  they  read,  were  such 
as  no  gentle  cadence  of  poetry  could  have  given 
them.  Apparently  they  would  never  have  tired  of 
reading  the  wonderful  words  of  hope  and  good  cheer 
over  and  over,  only  that  the  outer  door  swung  open, 
and  a  tall  man's  form  entered.  Philip  Breton  from 
the  platform  saw  it,  and  the  pride  sickened  on  his 
heart.  The  crowd  about  the  door  passed  the  whisper 
around,  and  it  was  hardly  one  short  minute  when  the 
building  shook  again  with  cheers,  as  they  shouted 
the  name  of — "  Curran." 

Yes,  it  was  he  who  pushed  his  way  well  into 
the  room  and  then  stopped  and  took  one  of  the 
printed  sheets  as  if  he  were  unconscious  of  their 
cheering  and  read  till  his  face  that  had  looked  so 
stern  and  terrible  softened  like  a  child.  Then  he 
mounted  a  settee  for  his  platform  and  uncovered 
his  head  with  a  new  grace  that  became  him  as 
well  as  his  streno;th.     The  old   bitterness   had  crone 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY.  233 

from  his  lips,  it  had  given  place  to  a  touching  sadness 
that  sobered  every  face  that  was  turned  toward  him. 

"  He  means  to  deal  well  by  you,  he  wants  to 
make  you  shareholders  in  your  work."  Philip  had 
risen  excitedly  to  his  feet.  The  sight  of  the  man  who 
had  been  with  Bertha,  who  came  perhaps  but  this 
instant  from  the  woman  he  had  wronged  so  terribly, 
was  at  first  almost  maddening  to  him.  Ah,  how 
grand  and  beautiful  he  was,  with  his  deep  mighty 
chest  and  shoulders,  and  his  limbs  like  pillars  of 
some  temple.  There  were  no  laws  for  such  men  as 
he  ;  the  holiest  and  purest  of  women  love  to  make 
themselves  base  and  common  things  to  win  smiles 
from  his  proud  eyes,  and  men  forget  their  vengeance, 
and  only  remember  how  small  and  mean  they  seem 
before  him.  But  who  could  look  at  his  melan- 
choly face  and  the  calm  dignity  that  rested  upon 
him  always,  and  believe  he  could  be  vile  ?  Only  per- 
haps nothing  was  vile  or  low  to  him,  and  even  sin 
was  glorified  in  his  eyes  when  it  suited  his  caprice  to 
sin. 

Philip  had  come  to  the  very  edge  of  the  plat- 
form and  beckoned  a  friend  to  him.  "  Do  you  see 
the  man  talking,  the  man  with  the  auburn  hair  cur- 
ling about  his  neck,  no  don't  look  yet,"  his  voice  was 
husky  with  excitement.  ''  Get  behind  him  while  he 
is  talking  and  stop  him  before  he  goes  out.  I  must 
see  him  and  speak  with  him  ;  I  would  rather  ten  thou- 


2  34  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

sand  dollars  than  lose  him.  Quick  now."  As  Philip 
sat  down  again  and  watched  his  friend  trying  to 
make  his  way  through  the  close  packed  crowd  he 
heard  Curran's  voice  again.  What  was  there  changed 
in  it?  It  had  lost  its  old  ring,  there  was  a  queer 
drag  in  it  sometimes,  and  when  he  used  to  raise  his 
voice  till  every  nerve  tingled  for  sympathy  he  seemed 
now  to  let  it  fall  and  his  long  sonorous  sentences 
died  down  at  the  end  like  a  muffled  bell. 

''  If  others  were  like  him,"  he  was  saying,  "  the 
reform  I  would  die  for  would  come  soon,  would  be 
upon  us.  It  is  so  much  easier  for  the  rich  and  the 
mighty  to  give  us  our  own,  than  for  us  to  wait  till 
the  slow  pulse  of  the  millions  of  the  oppressed 
beats  quick  with  resolution  so  that  we  will  take 
them." 

How  slow  his  friend  moved.  Philip  actually  hated 
the  people  who  were  too  stupid  to  get  out  of  his 
messenger's  way. 

Had  Curran  finished,  was  this  all  that  was  left  of 
his  eloquence  ?  Yes,  he  was  stepping  down  and 
moving  toward  the  door.  His  friend  was  almost  there, 
the  man  must  not  escape  thus,  and  plunge  again  with 
the  woman  whose  life  he  had  blasted  into  the  ob- 
scurity he  seemed  to  love.  Philip  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  almost  shouted  to  the  people.  All  turned  their 
faces  expectantly  toward  him,  Curran  with  the  rest 
his  pale  worn  face.     Philip's  friend  was  come  almost 


THE  NE  W  S  TO  CK  COM  PA  NY,  235 

to  him  now.     If  Curran  could  only  be  detained  for 
one  moment  more. 

''  It  will  of  course  be  for  the  interest  of  all  of  you," 
he  knew  he  was  talking  weakly,  but  it  was  no  matter, 
*'to  earn  the  most  wages  you  can,  to  lose  the  fewest 
days,  to  turn  off  the  most  piece  work."  Of  course, 
he  spoke  too  stupidly,  Curran  turned  on  his  heel  and 
moved  toward  the  door.  Almost  instantly  then, 
Philip  Breton  gave  a  sudden  short  bow  to  the  audi- 
ence and  disappeared  back  of  the  platform.  He 
bounded  down  the  narrow  stairs,  four  at  a  time,  and 
rushed  around  to  the  front  of  the  building  like  one 
mad  to  stare  for  a  moment  in  the  faces  of  the  escap- 
ing crowd.  Then,  wilder  than  ever  at  the  thought 
that  Curran  might  have  gone  out  among  the  first,  he 
ran  back  and  forth  after  one  group  and  another,  but 
all  in  vain.  Then  he  forced  himself  to  stop  and  think, 
and  forthwith  made  inquiries  for  Curran's  boarding 
place.  He  reached  the  place  at  last  and  ran  breath- 
lessly up  the  stairs.  In  another  moment  he  would 
know  the  truth  if  it  killed  him  to  bear  it.  He  must 
remove  the  poisonous  shadow  of  suspicion  that  was 
polluting  all  the  holiest  precincts  of  his  nature. 
Certainty  was  better  far,  for  the  nerves  can  brace 
themselves  against  the  clearly  defined  features  of 
ever  so  hideous  a  monster  ;  far  better  certainly  than 
this  crawling  slimy  terror  that  made  him  ashamed  of 
a  manhood  that  could  cherish    it.     He    dared    ask 


236  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

Curran  for  the  truth,  he  did  not  shrink  from  it.  If 
the  man  were  innocent  he  might  strike  him  down  for 
the  insult  to  the  purity  of  his  wife.  Phihp  thought 
such  atonement  would  seem  just  and  proper.  But  if 
he  were  guilty,  ah,  if  Bertha  was  guilty  through  him 
what  death  was  terrible  enough  for  his  penalty ! 

A  portly  woman,  with  the  unmistakable  expres- 
sion of  the  expectant  boarding  mistress  on  her  face 
and  in  her  attitude,  met  the  pale-faced  young  man 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs.  She  did  not  recognize  the 
proprietor  of  the  Breton  Mills,  in  his  slight  form  ; 
she  would  have  looked  for  a  man  of  lofty  stature 
and  commanding  mien,  and  not  a  mere  lad  whom 
nobody  would  glance  twice  at  on  the  street. 
"  Where  is  Curran  ?  I — I  want  him." 
*'  Why,  he's  just  gone,  he  drove  off  to  Lewiston." 
"  To  Lewiston  ?  are  you  sure?"  Why  this  must 
be  some  important  personage  after  all,  he  was  so  per- 
emptory. Poor  people  can  bully,  but  there  is  a 
shame-facedness  or  an  over-affectation  of  authority 
that  betrays  them,  their  self-consciousness  lets  the 
whole  secret  out. 

'^  Either  Lewiston  or  Raleigh,  I  can't  tell,  really, 
sir,  shall  I  get  you  a  carriage,  Mr. — Mr.  ?" 

"  Two  horses  and  a  buggy,  a  driver  too.  Tell 
them  it  is  for  Mr.  Breton,  and,"  he  shouted  after 
the  woman,  "  if  they  give  me  a  poor  horse,  he  will  be 
dead  before  they  ever  see  him  again." 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY,  237 

It  seemed  an  hour  before  the  horses  drew  up  be- 
fore the  boarding-house  door,    and  another  hour  be- 
fore they  had  left  the  village  behind.    Then  the  little 
patience   Philip    had    forsook   him  ;    he  caught    the 
reins  from  the  astonished  driver,  and  at  the  threat- 
ening snap  of  his  whip,  the  horses  broke  into  a  wild 
gallop.     But  he   did   not  attempt  to  restrain  their 
plunges;   if  they  fancied  they  were  running  away, 
all   the  better  ;  if  he  was  hurled   down  this  or  that 
high  bank,  the  fate  was  better  than  to  live  in  such 
ag'onizing  suspense.     But  the  hostler  had  no   incli- 
nation for  a  violent  death  ;  he  dared  not  touch  the 
reins,  for  fear  an  incautious  pull  might  send  them  to 
instant  destruction,  but  all  that  words  could  do,  he 
attempted.     All  respect  of  persons  forsook  him,  and 
he  heaped  all  the  curses   and   profane  abuse  in  his 
vocabulary   on  this  mad  driver  who  made  so  little 
of  common  prudence.     But  as  Philip  did  not  even 
seem  to  hear  him,  but  only  urged  the  panting  horses 
the   faster,  the  hostler  finally  relapsed  into  silence, 
and  only  held  on  to  his  seat  with  both  hands,  while 
great  drops  of  perspiration  started  out  on  his  fore- 
head. 

It  was  a  little  past  nine  o'clock  the  next  morn- 
ing, that  Philip  Breton,  pale  from  a  sleepless  night, 
knocked  at  a  low  studded  door  in  an  ill-ventilated 
tenement  house,  where  they  told  him  Curran  lived. 
Within    was  Bertha,  the  high-bred  woman,  wonted 


238  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

to  the  costliest  luxuries  of  wealth.  And  she  was 
willing,  then,  to  live  in  such  squalor  as  this  to  be 
with  the  man  she  loved.  Could  change  have  been 
cruel  enough  to  have  touched  her  ?  Perhaps  an 
infant  hung  hungrily  on  her  bosom,  and  Curran, 
fallen  back  into  his  vulgar  traditions,  lounged  in  red 
flannel  shirt  sleeves  in  her  presence.  Could  he  bear 
the  sight?  But  she  might  be  alone  ;  his  heart  beat 
faster  with  terror  and  hope.  She  would  lift  her 
sweet  eyes  pleasantly  to  him — so  easy  it  is  for 
women  to  forget  the  agony  they  have  caused.  She 
would  hold  out  her  shapely  hand  to  him,  but  it 
would  be  stained  and  worn  from  hardships.  Should 
he  fall  at  her  feet  ?  Would  he  be  able  to  remember 
she  was  another's — dead  to  him  ? 

He  knocked  again,  possibly  no  one  was  at  home. 

"  Come  in."     It  was  a  man's  voice. 

As  Philip  opened  the  door  he  saw  the  man  he 
sought,  by  the  window.  He  was  eagerly  looking 
up  and  down  the  street,  as  if  waiting  for  some  sign. 
There  was  no  guilty  fear  or  shame  in  the  calm  face 
that  was  turned  to  his  visitor. 

"Breton."  He  gave  him  his  hand  with  hearty 
good-will.  "  Somehow  I  could  not  speak  last  night, 
but  you  have  begun  a  noble  work.  Why,  I  had 
rather  feel  the  proud  satisfaction  you  must  have,  I 
would  rather  be  in  your  place  than  the  greatest  man 
in  the  whole  world." 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY.  239 

Philip  was  afraid  to  look  about  him  ;  perhaps 
Bertha  had  no  wish  to  speak  to  him,  or  else  she  was 
not  here  ;  there  was  no  atmosphere  of  a  woman's  love 
and  care  in  the  place,  somehow.  But  Curran  went 
on  in  his  quick,  eager  way,  "  The  rich  men  have  the 
most  glorious  privilege  ever  men  had;  the  world  is 
ripe  for  such  work  as  you  have  done.  Each  man  of 
wealth  can  let  the  fountains  of  light  and  joy  into  the 
lives  of  a  village  in  some  way  which  shall  make  his 
name  blessed  forever.  Instead  of  that,  whole  gener- 
ations of  us  have  to  break  ourselves  in  pieces  in  the 
effort  to  wear  away  their  rock.  We  fail,  as  the 
wretched  two  thousand  creatures  who  strike  here 
to-day,  will  fail,  to  gain  one  privilege  more  for  our- 
selves, but  our  children  may  profit  from  our  sacri- 
fices, perhaps,  or  their  children.  Anything  is  better 
than  spiritless,  eternal  submission." 

Philip  released  his  hand  from  the  man's  clasp 
and  turned  to  look  about  him.  No  woman's  shawl 
hung  on  the  rack.  No  baby's  shoes  or  toys.  A 
man's  rude  hands  had  set  the  chairs  in  an  awkward 
row.  A  man's  hands  made  the  comfortless  look- 
ing bed  that  stood  in  one  corner.  There  was  no 
soft  scent  of  perfume,  such  as  Bertha  would  have 
left  behind  her  if  she  had  but  lately  gone.  Why, 
Bertha  could  never  have  breathed  for  a  moment 
there.  Love  can  do  much,  but  it  cannot  rnake  a  wo- 
man over. 


240  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  Where  is  your  wife  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  low,  breath- 
less voice.     *'  Bertha." 

The  eager  look  faded  from  Curran's  face,  and  his 
blue  eyes  grew  troubled.  For  an  instant  he  did  not 
answer,  but  stood  with  folded  arms  gazing  out  into 
the  street. 

*' What  is  a  wife?  "  he  said  at  last,  "A  woman 
who  loves  a  man  and  lives  in  his  love,  who  pines  in 
his  absence  and  listens  to  the  coming  of  his  foot- 
steps, as  the  sweetest  music  in  the  world  to  her ;  to 
whom  all  the  gifts  of  life  would  be  nothing  without 
him ;  to  whom  poverty  and  disgrace  would  lose 
their  hatefulness  if  he  shared  them.  A  wife  is  a 
sweetheart,  a  hundred  times  tenderer  and  hap- 
pier." His  voice  grew  bitter  and  hard  for  a  mo- 
ment as  he  added,  "  No,  I  have  no  wife,  Bertha  has 
left  me." 

He  heard  a  shout,  and  a  score  of  hurrying  forms 
rushed  by  his  window.  He  turned  from  the  window 
in  a  sudden  passion  of  excitement. 

''  The  strike  has  begun.  What  pity  do  the  rich 
deserve?  Even  their  women  are  taught  only  to 
break  honest  men's  hearts.  They  are  beautiful  as 
the  angels  of  heaven  and  cruel  and  pitiless  as  the 
angels  of  hell." 

"  But  wait,"  cried  Philip,  catching  him  by  the 
arm.  Curran  had  not  yet  spoken  the  words  he 
wanted   to  protect   her   name   from    the    insult    of 


THE  NEW  STOCK  COMPANY.  24 1 

another  suspicious  thought.  But  a  shout  rolled 
up  from  the  street,  and  another  and  another  in 
quick  succession.  Curran  shook  him  off  and, 
catching  his  hat  from  the  table,  sprang  down  the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Why  Couldnt  She  Wait? 

IT  was  the  same  room,  and  yet  it  was  not.  The 
walls  were  papered  as  they  used  to  be  and  there 
was  the  same  round  baize-covered  table.  The  table 
however,  was  not  now  in  the  centre  of  the  room 
which  it  was  designed  for,  but  stood  awkwardly  in  a 
corner.  The  great  morocco-bound  volume  called, 
''  The  Dresden  Gallery  "  was  not  on  the  table.  Mrs. 
EUingsworth  had  no  taste  for  that  class  of  art.  But 
there  was  the  same  bookrack,  only  now  it  was  packed 
with  bloated  looking  novels,  cheap  in  binding  and  in 
paper.  Not  but  that  Mrs.  Ellingsworth  had  abund- 
ance of  money  at  her  command,  but  it  unfortunately 
happened  that  such  books  as  she  cared  for  were  of  a 
class  which  few  people  bought  if  they  could  afford 
better.  Higher  up  in  the  corner  hung  that  inexcus- 
able invention,  a  triangular  bracket,  whose  three 
shelves  were  littered  with  the  ugly  rubbish  called 
bric-a-brac. 

Naturally  enough  the  portrait  of  the  first  Mrs. 
Ellingsworth  had  disappeared  from  the  wall,  but  it 
certainly  was  a  little  cruel  to  replace  it  by  a  vulga" 


M^HV  COULDN'T  SHE   WAIT?  243 

print,  entitled  in  glaring  letters,  ''  Kathrina,  or  My 
Meditation  of  Thee  shall  be  Sweet."  Of  course  a 
man  must  submit  to  let  his  wife  furnish  her  own 
parlor  according  to  her  taste  or  lack  of  taste,  and  so 
it  was  that  Mr.  Ellingsworth  saw  his  delightfully 
comfortable  and  aristocratic  old  chairs  and  sofas 
packed  into  the  attic.  The  new  upholstery  was  ex- 
quisite in  material,  and  brilliant  in  tint,  but  unfortu- 
nately was  out  of  harmony  with  the  wall  paper  or 
the  carpet.  The  new  mistress  might  change  the 
arrangement  of  her  new  furniture  as  often  as  she 
pleased,  it  seemed  continually  out  of  place.  It 
seemed  incapable  of  taking  on  a  domestic  tone,  as 
much  as  if  its  price  tags  had  never  been  removed. 

The  new  maid  who  showed  Philip  Breton  into 
Mrs.  EUingsworth's  parlor  was  not  nearly  as  pretty 
as  her  predecessor  in  office,  but  he  w^as  too  much 
absorbed  with  his  delicate  errand  to  take  any  notice 
of  her.  Bertha  was  alone  somewhere,  deserted,  un- 
protected, something  must  be  done  for  her.  It  was 
a  strange  place  to  seek  pity  for  her,  in  the  woman's 
bosom  which  he  had  seen  heaving  in  hate  of  her, 
but  a  magnanimous  heart  is  wont  to  count  on  the 
generosity  of  others.  Philip  could  not  imagine  a 
creature  so  hard  and  cruel,  but  that  he  could  move 
her  by  explaining  how  poverty  and  desolation  might 
that  moment  be  the  portion  of  the  loveliest  woman 
in  the   world.      For    the    three  days    following  his 


2/^  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

interview  with  Curran,  waking  and  sleeping,  he  had 
seen  an  endless  panorama  of  all  the  woes  and  suffer- 
ings imagination  could  picture,  and  in  every  scene 
the  pale  tired  face  of  Bertha,  friendless  and  alone, 
with  her  great  blue  eyes  almost  speaking  in  their 
hunted  appealing  look.  He  might  tell  himself  she 
was  nothing  to  him,  that  she  had  deserved  all  she 
could  ever  suffer,  it  did  not  satisfy  him.  If  such  a 
woman  as  she  did  not  deserve  happiness,  still  he 
would  have  her  have  it.  It  seemed  the  depth  of 
unmanliness  for  him  to  let  her  suffer  for  her  fault. 
But  what  was  it  to  him,  had  she  not  a  father  ?  It  was 
more  than  uncalled  for,  for  him  to  espouse  her  cause 
as  if  she  needed  a  knight  ;  it  was  ridiculous  for  him  to 
volunteer  to  be  her  knight.  And  still  he  could  think 
of  nothing  but  her,  he  could  do  no  business,  he  could 
complete  no  plans,  till  at  last  in  desperation  he  had 
come  to  her  father's  house.  The  maid  had  said  Mr. 
EUingsworth  was  not  in,  and  so  he  was  left  to  appeal 
to  the  womanly  tenderness  of  his  wife.  At  least  she 
would  know  more  than  he  of  what  had  happened. 

He  had  dreaded  to  come,  for  fear  of  reminis- 
cences that  would  be  called  up  in  Bertha's  parlor. 
He  had  thought  each  familiar  object  here  would 
give  him  a  pang,  but  now  he  looked  about  the  room 
in  a  sort  of  daze.  However  much  Mr.  EUingsworth 
might  regret  the  change,  Philip  was  very  thankful 
for  it.     He  felt  that  he   could   not  have  borne  that 


WHY  COULDN'T  SHE   WAIT?  245 

the  sweet  associations  of  the  room  where  he  had 
been  so  happy,  poor  fool,  should  all  cry  shame  to 
him.  It  was  very  fitting,  he  thought,  that  the  very 
place  where  he  had  known  the  holiest  of  love's  illu- 
sions, should  be  transformed. 

He  rose  suddenly  from  the  satin-covered  sofa, 
and  looked  wonderingly  at  a  woman's  form  in  the 
doorway.  Could  this  be  the  poor  little  factory  girl, 
this  fashionably  dressed  woman,  with  a  train  like  a 
queen  ?  He  had  stupidly  enough  expected  to  find  her 
in  the  same  old  calico  dress,  perhaps  with  the  dingy, 
plaid  shawl  about  her  shoulders.  Wonted,  as  he  was, 
to  the  usages  of  good  society,  he  could  not  disguise 
the  surprise  in  his  eyes. 

But  the  girl  was  not  so  sensitive  as  to  be  annoyed. 
Had  not  she  kept  him  waiting  while  she  dressed,  on 
purpose  to  enjoy  a  triumph  ?  And  now  she  was 
quite  pleased  at  the  plain  evidence  of  it.  She 
smiled  rather  consciously  as  she  extended  her  jew- 
elled little  hand  to  him. 

"Why  haven't  you  called  before?"  Her  voice 
had  lost  the  desperate  or  sullen  tone  he  remem- 
bered in  it  of  old,  but  he  was  not  sure  he  liked  it 
any  better.  He  bowed,  like  any  gentleman,  as  he 
touched  her  hand,  and  noticed  the  great  gold  brace- 
lets on  her  slim  wrists.  Philip  was  unpleasantly 
reminded  of  manacles,  and  then  the  massive  chain 
around  her   neck,  with   a  huge  locket  shaped  like  a 


246  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

padlock,  had  suggestions,  too,  of  a  sort,  he  fancied, 
the  girl  would  hardly  have  liked  if  she  had  thought 
of  them.  He  glanced  at  her  olive  cheeks,  and  the 
slightly  oblique  eyes,  and  the  voluptuous  fullness  of 
her  form.  How  could  an  American  village  have 
produced  so  perfect  an  odalisque  ? 

•'  I  did  not  wish  to  interrupt  your  honeymoon.'' 
He  seated  himself  again. 

She  was  looking  oddly  at  him,  as  if  curious 
whether  he  had  forgotten  her  indiscreet  visit,  when 
she  had  told  him  of  her  own  broken  heart. 

Philip  suddenly  met  her  eyes  as  she  sat  oppo- 
site him.  ''  The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Ellingsworth,  I  have 
hardly  been  in  the  mood  for  polite  calls  of  late.  I 
suppose  you  understand." 

''  How  should  I?"  She  elevated  her  dark  brows 
rather  unpleasantly  as  if  to  dismiss,  once  for  all,  any 
further  confidences  with  him.  Philip  smiled,  in 
spite  of  himself,  at  her  tactics,  when  she  tried  to 
look  unconcernedly  out  of  the  window. 

"Do  you  know  where  Bertha  is?"  he  asked, 
simply. 

A.  sudden  flash  of  color  lit  up  her  cheeks.  ''  I 
hate  the  very  name  of  her,"  she  exclaimed,  as  she 
rose  as  if  to  leave  him.  She  was  not  yet  wonted  to 
the  customs  of  her  new  rank. 

"  Don't  go,"  he  urged,  "  I  am  so  anxious  to 
know  where  she  is.     No  doubt  you  have  cause  to  be 


IVJIV  COULDN'T  SHE    WAIT?  247 

angry  with  her,"  Philip  did  not  notice  the  growing 
passion  in  the  girl's  eyes,  "  but  you  surely  would 
not  have  her  starve  to  death,  or  suffer  and  die 
alone.'' 

"■  Perhaps  not,"  Jane  meant  to  smile,  but  she 
only  produced  the  effect  of  showing  the  cruel  white 
of  her  teeth.  ''  Hasn't  she  got — "  the  word  stuck  in 
her  throat,  "  him  ?" 

"Why,  didn't  you  know,"  cried  Philip  breath- 
lessly, ''  she  has  left  him  ?  She  is  alone  somewhere, 
for  all  we  know,  in  want ;  think  of  it,  and  she  too 
proud-to — " 

"Left  her— husband ?" 

"  If  he  was  her  husband,  I  didn't  know,"  he  hur- 
ried on,  as  if  afraid  of  the  answer  that  would  come, 
"  I  never  heard,  you  know,  and  I  didn't  like  to  ask." 

She  had  seated  herself  on  the  pink  satin  beside 
him  and  caught  his  hands  as  she  bent  toward  him  to 
read  his  thoughts  before  he  spoke. 

"  Did  you  hear  they  were  not  married  ?  "  she  al- 
most hissed  at  him. 

"  Why  yes,  that  is — "  he  looked  away  in  his  shame. 
"  It  was  told  about  the  village,  but  you  know  better 
of  course."  He  tried  to  laugh,  then  he  grew  sober 
again.  "  How  vile  of  them  to  whisper  it,  and  it  was 
vile  of  me  to  let  even  the  taint  of  a  fear  into  my 
mind." 

But  she  did  not  answer  him  yes  or  no.     Her  eyes 


248  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

had  grown  preternaturally  large,  and  there  was  a 
happiness  in  them  as  if  she  looked  right  into  the 
gates  of  heaven.  All  the  common  expressions  were 
gone  from  her  face.  One  could  read  there  now 
nothing  but  purity  and  sweetness  such  as  make  up 
the  substance  of  dreams  of  love. 

*'  And  he  is  alone,  oh,  where  is  he,  I  must  know, 
I  must  go  to  him.  It  cannot  be  true."  The  angel- 
ic look  flitted,  the  exquisite  drooping  at  the  corners 
of  her  mouth  was  gone. 

*'  If  you  have  dared  to  lie  to  me."  Philip  w^as 
perfectly  astonished  at  the  sudden  change  in  her  face 
and  voice.  Her  black  eyes  blazed  ungovernable 
passion  into  his,  the  quick  transition  from  the  height 
of  blissful  hope  to  the  depths  of  despair,  seemed  to 
bear  her  over  the  line  of  her  humanity.  "  Tell  me, 
have  you  lied  to  make  a  show  of  me?  " 

She  trembled  for  an  instant,  like  a  wild  creature 
before  a  spring,  then  she  clutched  with  her  hot  supple 
fingers  at  his  throat,  magnificent  as  a  tigress  and  in 
every  motion  a  perfect  terrible  grace.  Philip  threw 
her  from  him  as  he  would  some  untamed  animal ;  it 
was  hard  to  remember  her  womanhood  then. 

She  sat  where  he  had  left  her,  as  if  just  awoke 
from  a  terrible  night-mare,  her  fingers  parted  and 
curved  and  moving  spasmodically  as  if  she  yet  held 
him  by  the  throat.  Then  she  buried  her  face  in  the 
cushion  in  a  flood  of  tears. 


V/HY  COULDN'T  SHE   WAIT?  249 

''  I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing,"  she  sobbed. 
*'  Don't  remember  it,  I  was  mad."  She  rose  trem- 
blingly to  her  feet  and  came  forward  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands.  She  might  have  been  an  abused 
child,  so  gentle  and  sweet  she  seemed.  She  took 
down  her  hands  from  her  face  ;  what  man  could  be  so 
cold  and  hard  as  to  stand  against  such  eyes  as  hers 
looking  through  their  tears  } 

But  she  was  alone. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Radical. 

^*/"^H,  my  God,  my  God,  why  couldn't  I  have 
V^   waited  !  " 

She  tore  the  gold  chain  from  her  neck  and  cast 
it  on  the  floor.  Her  husband  had  given  it  to  her, 
and  she  hated  him  at  this  moment  and  the  proud 
name  he  had  put  upon  her.  She  had  rather  one 
smile  of  that  other  than  all  these  empty  golden 
favors. 

"  I  am  sick  of  their  soft  ways  and  their  lying 
tongues,"  she  moaned,  ''Why  didn't  I  wait."  Jane 
EUingsworth  began  to  walk  rapidly  about  the  room, 
wrenching  the  great  gold  bands  about  her  wrists, 
unconscious  that  she  chafed  and  bruised  the  skin. 

"  I  might  have  known  God  would  not  deny  him 
to  me,  I  wanted  him  so  much.  Oh,  my  love,  my 
darling,  I  would  have  fought  for  you,  I  would  have 
starved  for  you.  It  would  have  been  sweet  with 
you — and  I  could  not  wait  one  year.  I  might  have 
known  it  would  come,  but  I  could  not  wait."  She 
drove  her  nails  into  her  flesh  as  she  clasped  them  in 
her  anguish.     She  panted  for  breath,  her  rich  silk 


A  RADICAL.  251 

dress  seemed  to  suffocate  her,  and  the  perfumed  air 
was  too  heavy  and  dead,  it  seemed  to  strangle  her. 

""  He  is  free,  he  would  have  opened  his  arms  to 
me.  He  may  be  coming  now  to  ask  me  to  go  with 
him.  He  could  never  have  loved  that  cold,  blood- 
less creature.  Ah,  how  I  could  have  loved  him.  I 
would  have  taught  him  that  a  woman  can  love." 

She  unclasped  her  hands  and  let  them  fall  gently 
to  her  side,  and  her  convulsed  face  took  on  a  new 
soft  tenderness.  "  I  would  go  with  you,"  she  mur- 
mured. "  A  hungry  heart  cannot  feed  on  such 
things  as  these.  Oh,  but  he  would  not  have  me, 
a  low  creature  who  has  sold  herself,  he  would  not 
have  me.  He  would  despise  me,  he  would  not 
even  look  at  me,  as  if  a  woman  can  be  as  strong  as 
a  man." 

She  fell  back  in  one  of  the  satin  covered  chairs 
she  had  bought  with  her  husband's  money,  and  cried 
and  sobbed  till  the  salt  fountains  dried  up.  It  was 
then,  while  she  sat  silent  and  tearless,  looking  at  her 
bruised  wrists  and  at  the  wounds  her  nails  had  made, 
that  she  heard  a  familiar  delicate  tread  in  the  hall. 
It  was  as  well  Mr.  EUingsworth  did  not  catch  the 
expression  on  her  set,  weary  face  as  his  tall,  shapely 
form  appeared  in  the  doorway.  He  seemed  to  her 
fancy  that  moment  the  most  terrible  monster  in  the 
world,  this  elegant  figure  of  a  man,  whose  disposition 
was  the  very  essence  of  refinement,  and  she  dropped 


252  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

her  eyes  to  the  carpet  as  he  came  toward  her  with 
his  eternal  smile. 

"  All  alone,  Jennie  ^  Why  you  have  dropped 
your  chain,  here  it  is  on  the  floor." 

"  Oh,  thank  you,"  but  she  shuddered  in  spite  of 
herself  as  he  seated  himself  near  her  and  warmed 
her  hands  fondly  between  his  own  soft,  white  palms. 

"  My  httle  girl,''  he  began. 

Yes,  she  was  his,  his  and  no  other's,  his  every 
day  and  hour  of  her  life,  for  hadn't  he  bought  her, 
and  what  better  title  was  there  than  that  by  pur- 
chase? She  raised  her  eyes  and  made  them  rest  on 
his  fine,  smooth  shaven  face.  She  had  never  noticed 
before  a  certain  cold  and  cruel  light  in  his  eyes,  as 
if  he  could  enjoy  keenly  the  torture  of  a  living  soul, 
or  that  beside  the  sensual  lines  of  his  finely  chiseled 
mouth  there  was  a  suggestion  of  an  exquisite  brutal- 
ity on  the  thin  lips.  She  trembled  before  him.  If 
he  knew. 

''  I  have  a  favor  to  ask  of  you."  He  looked  ad- 
miringly at  her  as  he  spoke.  Mr.  Ellingsworth 
never  tired  of  the  rich,  oriental  type  of  his  wife's 
beauty  ;  if  Bertha's,  mother  had  been  like  her  there 
need  never  have  been  any  unpleasant  stories  in  the 
community  on  her  score.  And  Jane  was  lovelier 
than  ever  to-day  with  this  peculiar  brilliancy  in  her 
eyes  and  the  bright  red  spot  on  either  dark  cheek. 
She  didn't  know  how  to  furnish  her  parlor  very  well 


A  RADICAL,  253 

but  he  had  never  yet  been  sorry  he  married  her. 
And  she  seemed  to  understand  so  well  how  to  man- 
age him,  never  too  fond,  always  a  little  on  her  guard, 
like  a  judicious  artist,  who  will  not  let  even  the  most 
ardent  admirers  come  too  near  his  canvas. 

"  It  is  about  Bertha,"  he  continued,  not  seeming 
to  notice  her  start.  ^'  She  has  left  that  fellow.  I 
haven't  troubled  you  before,  but  she  has  been  alone 
up  in  Vineboro  for  a  good  many  months.  I  think 
best  she  should  come  home  now.  It  will  be  in  bet- 
ter taste — " 

Mr.  EUingsworth  rose  to  his  feet  at  a  rumbling 
noise,  and  stepped  to  the  window.  When  he  came 
back  the  color  had  faded  from  Jane's  cheeks,  and  her 
small  mouth  closed  very  tight.  Her  hands  were 
trembling  violently,  but  she  had  hid  them  in  the 
folds  of  her  dress,  so  her  husband  could  not  see  her 
intense  excitement.  Her  heart  was  beating  loudly  ; 
her  old  madness  seemed  coming  upon  her  again,  but 
this  man's  cold  smiling  face  subdued  her. 

"  When  is  she  coming?  " 

"  I  didn't  know  but  that  was  the  carriage ;  well  I 
suppose  she  may  be  here,"  he  glanced  at  his  gold- 
faced  watch,  "  perhaps  in  an  hour  or  two." 

The  girl's  lips  quivered,  she  almost  broke  into  a 
passion  of  angry  words — the  hate  that  seethed  in  her 
heart  for  that  woman  was  almost  bubbling  forth  its 
bitterness.     But  the  cool  assurance  on  her  husband's 


254  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

face,  as  his  keen  pitiless  eyes  seemed  to  search  out 
all  the  secrets  of  her  soul,  cowed  the  woman.  She 
rose  and  moved  as  one  in  a  dream,  toward  the  door. 

*'  I  must  get  things  ready  then."  And  so  this 
was  what  her  gentle-voiced  husband  called  asking  a 
favor  of  her.  She  did  not  love  him,  but  she  feared 
him,  now,  as  she  remembered  her  secret.  She  would 
obey  his  nod  as  if  she  were  his  dog,  she  would  study 
the  signs  on  his  placid  face.  He  had  never  had  any- 
thing but  smiles  and  kind  speeches  for  her,  but  she 
would  have  sunk  into  the  very  earth  at  his  feet, 
rather  than  that  he  should  open  his  mysterious 
armory  of  instruments  of  deadly  torture  for  the  soul. 

"  Well,  well,  I  thought  she  would  make  more 
fuss." 

The  afternoon  sun  was  well  down  on  his  last 
stretch  when  Philip  Breton  came  back  from  his  fac- 
tory, and  up  the  street  towards  Mr.  EUingsworth's 
house.  There  was  some  one  with  him,  a  man  so  tall 
and  slight  that  the  weight  of  his  head,  which  was 
quite  large,  seemed  to  bow  him.  It  was  an  old  gen. 
tleman  to  judge  from  the  wrinkles  on  his  face,  he  had 
hardly  enough  hair  to  show  whether  it  was  grey  or 
only  flaxen. 

"  You  have  done  splendidly,  my  boy  !  "  It  was 
an  old  acquaintance  of  Philip's  he  had  used  to  talk 
philosophy  with  at  college,  one  of  those  benevolent- 
minded  gentlemen  who  are  so  optimistic  that  they 


A  RADICAL.  255 

have  to  go  to  boys  for  sympathy.  "  Splendidly,"  he 
repeated,  ''  only  why  stop  just  where  you  are?  If 
every  mill-owner  would  do  in  his  mill  what  you  have 
done,  it  would  be  a  grand  thing  for  this  world.  But 
they  won't.  Now  you  have  started  beautifully,  but 
there  is  too  much  business  to  your  plan." 

Philip  smiled  argumentatively.  It  was  like  his 
boyhood  returned  to  hear  the  old  man's  mellow 
tones. 

''But,  Mr.  Philbrick,  an  honest  business  man  can 
do  more  good  than  a  dozen  impracticable  philan- 
thropists like  you." 

''  But  think  of  the  things  that  business  princi- 
ples never  can  regard.  Your  help  work  ten  weary 
hours  a  day,  all  their  poor  lives  ;  business  demands 
that,  doesn't  it?  Well,  I  say  that  is  where  benevo- 
lence must  come  in.  It  is  terrible  to  be  shut  up  as 
they  are;  it  kills  body,  mind,  and  soul;  business 
principles  never  can  save  them,"  said  the  old  gen- 
tleman, turning  his  kindly  eyes  on  the  young  mill- 
owner,  "  philanthropy,  I  don't  care  what  you  call  it, 
some  gentle  spirit  of  love  ought  to  lift  the  burden 
that  crushes  the  Hfe  and  hope  out  of  them,  con- 
trary to  business  principles,  higher  than  business 
principles." 

As  Mr.  Philbrick  finished,  a  close  carriage  rolled 
by  them  and  stopped  a  little  beyond,  where  a  gen- 
tleman and  lady  stood  to  welcome  the  visitor. 


256  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

"  Your  reforms,"  answered  Philip,  after  a  mo- 
ment's thought,  "  should  be  founded  on  business 
principles.  Then  the  force  of  the  business  instinct 
will  carry  them  out.  Otherwise — "  he  lifted  his  hat 
to  Mrs.  Ellingsworth,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  no- 
tice him  ;  her  eyes  were  fixed  on  her  husband,  who 
was  in  the  act  of  handing  a  lady  out  of  the  carriage. 
The  lady  wore  a  traveling  suit  of  a  blue  shade.  Her 
face  was  hid  as  she  stepped  down,  showing  the 
white  feather  in  the  back  of  her  hat,  and  a  few 
strands  of  golden  hair  below.  Then  she  raised  her 
face  as  the  carriage  rolled  away,  and  a  wild,  sweet 
thrill  of  pain  shot  through  Philip's  heart,  while 
every  nerve  in  his  body  tingled,  like  finely  tuned 
stringed  instruments,  trembling  in  sympathy  with  a 
resounding  chord.  His  feet  refused  to  take  him 
away,  while  his  hungry  eyes  devoured  Bertha's 
beauty,  for  it  was  no  other  than  she  come  back — his 
lost  darling  found  again.  His  heart  warmed,  as  he 
looked,  into  a  divine  glow ;  how  cold  it  had  been, 
and  so  long  ;  a  great  burden  of  weariness  seemed 
lifted  from  him  ;  it  was  as  if,  after  a  dreary  old  age, 
the  sweet  peace  of  childhood  was  born  in  him  again. 

For  the  moment  he  forgot  everything  that  had 
come  between  them,  as  in  the  bright,  perfumed 
morning,  a  child  forgets  the  dreary  night  just  past. 
But  the  long  night  had  changed  her  ;  the  exquisite 
roundness  of  her  face  and  form  had  gone ;  even  her 


A  RADICAL.  257 

grand  blue  eyes  seemed  faded  like  her  cheeks,  once 
so  rich  in  their  sunset  glow.  And  he  only  yearned 
over  her  the  more  tenderly — the  new  element  of  pity 
seemed  only  wanting  before  to  glorify  his  love  into 
a  religion.  He  longed  to  rush  to  her,  putting  away 
her  father,  who  had  no  caresses  for  her,  and  his  wife, 
who  was  darting  flashes  of  hate  at  the  unwelcome 
guest.  He  would  enfold  her  in  his  arms.  She 
would  be  glad  for  them  at  last  ;  such  love  as  his  made 
the  closest  kin  in  the  world.  He  took  a  step  toward 
her,  but  no  one  saw  him. 

The  eyes  of  the  two  women  met.  Their  wills 
met  and  struggled  for  the  mastery  in  that  moment. 
Undisguised  hate  was  in  one  face,  lofty  contempt  in 
the  other.  There  had  been  one  gentle,  wistful  ex- 
pression in  Bertha's  face  as  she  first  alighted,  but 
there  was  no  trace  of  it  now.  She  had  drawn  her- 
self up  to  her  full  height,  so  that  the  other  woman 
seemed  like  a  child  before  her,  and  her  hand,  as  it 
fell  to  her  side,  opened  outward  in  a  gesture  of  dis- 
dain for  the  creature  her  father  had  chosen  for  his 
wife.  It  was  hardly  a  second  before  her  rare  lips 
parted  ;  they  at  least  had  not  changed.  Jane  winced 
for  fear  of  some  bitter  taunt.  She  had  learned  how 
terrible  a  blow  well-trained  tongues  can  give,  but 
the  words  were  only  some  polite  commonplace,  the 
tone — well,  it  caused  Mr.  EUingsworth  to  glance 
critically  at  his  wife.  She  seemed  vulgar  in  his  eyes 
17 


258  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

for  the  first  time.  Jane  tried  to  brazen  it  out,  but 
her  face  only  took  on  an  expression  of  pugnacious 
insignificance. 

'*  What  was  it  you  were  saying?"  resumed  Mr. 
Philbrick  as  Philip  overtook  him. 

"  I  had  forgotten." 

"  Speaking  of  business  ?  "  suggested  the  other,  and 
then  continued  himself,  not  displeased  at  an  extra 
turn.  ''  Business  I  say  is  heartless  and  cruel  as  death. 
It  is  pitiless,  and  pity  is  the  noblest  of  emotions,  it  is 
ungenerous,  it  is  unfair,  we  have  had  enough  of  it 
when  it  grinds  so  terribly." 

Mr.  Philbrick  thought  his  tirade  would  surely 
fetch  an  enthusiastic  retort  ;  but  Philip  only  walked 
on  by  his  side  in  silence,  he  seemed  intent  on  some 
beautiful  masses  of  clouds  just  behind  the  sun  as  he 
sped  his  way  to  the  west. 

*'  Can't  afford  it,  can't  afford  it,"  went  on  the  old 
gentleman,  gesticulating  with  his  forefinger,  "  that  is 
what  you  would  say,  I  presume  ;  of  course  you  can't 
if  the  upper  classes  waste  the  wealth  they  do.  I  tell 
you  there  is  no  sense  nor  excuse  for  a  man  spending 
ten  and  twenty  and  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year ; 
why  it  is  a  good  workman  in  your  mill  who  earns  ten 
thousand  dollars  in  a  life-time^  adding  all  his  days' 
wages  together.  There  ought  to  be  more  fairness 
about  these  things.  Such  men  as  you,  Philip  Breton, 
get  too   much, — more  than  any  reasonable  creature 


A  RADICAL.  259 

could  want,  now  you  ought  to  go  right  to  work  and 
distribute  your  surplus,  I  mean  your  real  surplus, 
back  where  it  came  from,  among  the  poor.  It  don't 
take  but  very  little  money  to  buy  what  can  make  a 
Hfe  comfortable  and  complete.  The  rich  are  always 
complaining  that  they  don't  enjoy  life  more  than  the 
middle  classes  ;  but  they  manage  to  waste  what  would 
make  a  thousand  wretched  homes  happy  without  one 
pang  of  conscience." 

"  But  what  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Philip 
in  astonishment. 

The  old  gentleman's  face  was  flushed  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

"  Why  I  want  you  to  take  hold,  and  begin  to 
make  things  equal,  by  paying  back  your  surplus  in 
one  form  or  another.  Give  them  better  homes  to  live 
in,  shorten  their  hours  so  they  can  have  a  little  exist- 
ence besides  drudgery,  pay  them  better  wages." 

Philip  looked  distressed  and  doubtful.  He  had 
thought  the  subject  over  carefully  and  believed  he 
had  done  a  great  deal  already  for  his  poor.  His 
philanthropic  friend  would'  turn  the  whole  world 
topsey-turvey. 

"  Why,  you  know  what  the  books  say, — that  giv- 
ing so  much  would  spoil  all  the  spirit  and  patience 
of  the  working  classes." 

''  Mere  arguments  devised  to  soothe  the  conscien- 
ces of  the  rich, "explained  Mr.  Philbrick  with  a  grand 


26o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

air.  "  Though  there  is  such  a  thing  as  unwise  benev- 
olence, encouraging  paupers  and  beggars  :  but  a  man 
who  works  every  day  of  his  hfe  isn't  a  beggar.  Your 
father  made  a  good  investment  that  brings  you  in 
say  a  quarter  million  a  year.  That  is  rather  above 
what  you  pay  your  best  workman  ;  but  it  doesn't  hurt 
your  manliness  any,  my  bo}^  The  poorest-paid  hand 
in  your  factory  works  a  great  deal  harder  than  you  ; 
you  needn't  be  afraid  of  degrading  his  manhood  till 
he  gets  a  quarter  million." 

''  But  wouldn't  they  hang  off  on  their  oars  un- 
less they  had  to  struggle  for  a  livelihood  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Philip,  you  wouldn't  think  it  necessary 
to  starve  a  horse,  and  hang  a  bag  of  oats  just -before 
his  nose  to  make  him  go.  Better  feed  him  the  oats, 
and  a  healthy  animal  likes  to  go.  Do  you  lie  off  on 
your  oars?  You  could  afford  it  a  thousand  times  better 
than  they.  Give  them  a  chance  for  hope  and  ambition 
and  it  will  produce  the  best  work  ever  known.  Who 
lives  here?  " 

He  stopped  in  front  of  a  graceful  little  cottage 
through  whose  open  windows  one  could  see  into 
cheerful  well  furnished  rooms.  A  row  of  maple 
saplings  had  been  lately  set  in  front,  and  plenty  of 
green  shrubs  and  ample  vines  gave  the  place  a  most 
charming  air. 

**  John  Graves,  one  of  my  workmen.  His  daugh- 
ter married  rich,  and  it  is  her  husband's  money  has 


A  /RADICAL.  261 

worked  a  remarkable  transformation."  Philip  was 
very  glad  to  change  the  subject.  "  John's  wife  was 
sick, — supposed  to  be  a  life  invalid.  See  that  lady- 
like woman  watering  the  hanging  pot,  that  is  she. 
Ellingsworth's  money  made  the  change.  As  for 
Graves  himself,  he  used  to  be  bowed  almost  like  a 
cripple  ;  he  was  as  melancholy  as  an  undertaker,  and 
he  had  reason  to  be,  poor  fellow.  He  used  to  pull  a 
great  slouch  hat  down  over  his  face  to  hide  as  much 
as  he  could  of  himself.  Well,  you  wouldn't  know 
him  now,  he  is  as  respectable-looking  man  as  one 
often  sees,  and  they  say  he  works  as  hard  as  ever." 

"'He  isn't  degraded  any,  then  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Phil- 
brick  slyly,  as  they  walked  on  again,  "  by  his  good 
fortune." 

Philip  frowned.  Mr.  Philbrick  ought  to  appreci- 
ate the  difference  between  the  boy  and  the  man  a 
little  better. 

"  I  cannot  carry  out  your  proposal,  it  isn't  in  my 
line.  I  am  a  business  man  and  must  work  in  charac- 
ter. I  actually  feel  as  if  I  had  made  quite  a  step, 
for  me." 

"  A  step  ! ''  cried  his  companion,  eagerly  reaching 
out  to  clasp  his  hand,  "■  A  stride,  only  I  want  you 
to  go  clear  to  the  goal." 

"  I  am  too  slow  for  you,"  smiled  Philip,  sadly,  as 
he  shook  his  head.  ''  What  I  have  attempted  seems 
enough  for  one  life-work.     I  don't  want  to   risk   it 


262  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

all  by  a  new  experiment.  Here  we  are  at  my  house, 
won't  you  come  in?" 

They  stood  at  the  gate.  The  front  door  stood 
invitingly  open,  showing  the  broad  oaken  staircase, 
and  still  beyond,  the  table  set  for  the  evening  meal. 

"  Not  to-night,  thank  you.'*  Mr.  Philbrick  shook 
his  hand  for  parting  but  did  not  seem  quite  ready 
to  go. 

''  Tea  is  all  ready,"  urged  Philip,  "  and  I  am  quite 
alone." 

*'  Oh  no,  my  train  leaves,"  he  made  an  excuse  to 
look  at  his  watch,  ''  in  half  an  hour."  Still  he  hes- 
itated. 

At  last  he  laid  his  hand  gently  on  Philip's  arm. 

''You  are  young  and  have  probably  a  long  life 
of  usefulness  before  you.  But  a  man  can  never 
tell."  Philip  looked  in  surprise  at  him.  ''  You  may 
change  your  mind,  or  give  up  your  work ;  if  you 
should  want  to,  just  let  me  know,  I  would  like  to 
buy  you  out  and  run  things  on  my  plan." 

"  But  you  are  not  rich  enough.  You  probably 
know  the  valuation  of  the  Breton  Mills,"  answered 
Philip,  a  little  proudly. 

"  I  could  pay  you  something,  and  you  wouldn't 
drive  too  hard  a  bargain.  You  would  be  glad,  per- 
haps, to  contribute  in  that  way." 

Philip  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh  ;  his  honest  old 
friend  was  losing  his  wits.     Give  up  his  factory  and 


A  RADICAL.  263 

his  own  scheme,  that  was  his  only  hope  in  life  !  But 
Mr.  Philbrick  did  not  smile.  He  seemed  actually 
serious  and  awaiting  an  answer. 

''  Well,  I  will  give  you  the  first  chance  when  I 
want  to  sell." 

The  old  gentleman's  earnestness  sobered  Philip 
in  spite  of  himself.  He  was  sorry  he  had  laughed. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  mocking  his  own  destiny.  The 
philanthropist's  proposal  began  to  affect  him  as  a 
death's  head  at  a  feast.  He  was  afraid  he  could  not 
forget  it.  Did  his  friend  know  him  better  than  he 
knew  himself?  Did  he  see  elements  of  weakness  in 
his  character  that  would  be  sure  to  wreck  his  beauti- 
ful hopes  ? 

Philip  walked  slowly  up  to  his  door;  once  he 
turned  and  looked  after  the  bent  but  still  vigorous 
figure  of  the  bad  prophet.  No  doubt  he  was  already 
planning  how  to  revolutionize  the  whole  manage- 
ment of  the  mill. 

"  I  will  never  speak  with  him  again,"  he  mut- 
tered. 

Then  he  looked  back  at  his  house  again.  It  was 
in  that  very  doorway,  open  as  it  was  now,  that 
Bertha  had  stood  and  kissed  her  hand  to  him  the 
last  time  she  had  been  at  his  home.  That  was 
when  his  chief  thoughts  of  life  were  as  a  wedding 
journey — that  was  before  the  first  cloud  had  dimmed 
his  sunlight.     And  now  she  had  returned.     She  had 


264  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

shamed  her  father's  house  and  her  mother's  pure 
memory.  She  had  shamed  him  who  had  been  her 
lover  since  childhood,  and  all  for  a  man  she  did  not 
love  enough  to  stay  with  him.  Still  he  could  not 
help  that  first  tumultuous  throb  of  his  heart,  the 
unreasoning  wave  of  joy  that  had  swept  over  him  at 
the  very  sight  of  her  changed,  tired  face.  She  had 
done  her  worst  to  spoil  his  life,  to  drive  peace  and 
happiness  from  his  soul,  but  that  pure,  steady  glow 
in  his  heart,  ah,  it  was  love  yet. 

Philip's  heart  was  very  full  of  bitterness,  the  fruit 
of  his  love  instead  of  peace.  He  stopped  midway 
to  his  door,  and  plucked  a  rose,  slowly  tore  out  its 
blushing  petals  and  let  the  summer  breeze  carry  them 
away. 

The  great  work  for  the  poor  he  had  commenced 
would  have  made  him  the  happiest  man  in  the  world, 
if  she  could  have  shared  his  enthusiasm  with  him. 
His  was  the  disposition  even  and  sweet,  just  the  one 
to  get  the  most  contentment  out  of  his  life,  but  lone- 
liness was  terrible  to  him. 

*'  Perhaps  it  is  better  so,"  he  said  aloud,  as  he 
crushed  the  fragment  of  the  flower  in  his  hand.  No 
doubt  he  was  light  and  weak,  and  it  was  only  under 
the  pressure  of  a  great  burden,  that  he  could  ac- 
complish anything.  That  gave  him  intensity.  And 
then  Bertha  might  have  weakened  his  purpose  if  he 
formed  one,  not  sympathizing  with  him,  and  it  had 


A  RADICAL. 


26; 


not  been  her  wont  to  sympathize  with  h.m.  His 
very  devotion  to  her  might  have  made  h>m  waver 
or  for  very  happiness  he  might  not  have  thought  of 
anything  but  his-bride.  If  a  man  has  a  great  work 
to  do  it  is  better  to  be  alone.  Two  souls  never  can 
have  but  a  single  thought,  and  the  least  fnct.on  migh 
delay  his  progress;  the  least  discouragement  m.ght 
hinder  his  footsteps  on  the  mountain,  brmging  glad 
tidings  to  the  wretched. 

AH  that  peril  had  been  saved  him.  Curran  had 
proved  a  better  friend  to  the  people  than  he  thought, 
even  when  he  deserted  them,  in  breaking  m  upon 
Philip  Breton's  idle  dream  of  love. 

Perhaps  it  was  from  Bertha's  shame  had  sprung 
all  the  good  that  blessed  a  thousand  hopeless  lives. 

Philip  shuddered  as  he  went  up  the  broad  stone 
steps  to  his  silent  house.  It  seemed  infamous  to 
associate  the  thought  of  shame  with  the  woman 
whose  beautiful  high-bred  face  he  had  looked  into 
acain  to-day.  And  Bertha  was  in  the  very  village 
with  him;  the  great  outside  world  had  given  her 
back  safe.  He  need  not  tremble  for  her  any  more, 
for  her  father's  arm  protected  her. 

He  looked  across  the  fields  where  he  could  see 
one  -able  of  the  house  that  held  her,  almost  hidden 
by  overshadowing  trees.  Perhaps  she  was  in  her 
room,  this  moment  weeping  bitter  tears  for  the 
sweet  rare  life  she  had  lost  by  her  madness. 


266  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  eyes. 

"Must  she  suffer  forever — for  what  she  has  re- 
pented of,  and  the  streams  of  despair  flow  always 
through  her  heart,  washed  whiter  than  snow  ?  " 

He  walked  into  his  home,  and  through  the  echo- 
ing hall  and  stood  in  the  door  of  his  dining-room. 
There  were  sideboards  and  chairs  enough  to  provide 
for  a  party — the  table  glittered  with  its  massive 
plate,  and  glistened  with  exquisite  china,  but  only 
one  seat  was  placed. 

A  piteous  look  of  loneliness  was  in  his  face,  but  he 
only  muttered  through  his  closed  lips, 

"  Nothing  can  ever  be  blotted  out.  She  cannot 
be  forgiven." 


CHAPTER  XXL 

Very   Odd. 

A  MAN  of  wealth  like  Philip  Breton  owes  especial 
duties  to  the  community.  He  may  very  easily 
be  guilty  of  criminal  remissness,  for  the  tranquillity 
of  the  masses  depends  very  much  on  the  firmness 
of  the  higher  classes.  It  is  not  for  him  to  say,  I  may 
do  what  I  will  with  my  own.  The  great  danger  of 
the  world  to-day  is  from  the  discontent  of  the  poor; 
the  people  are  impregnated  with  new  fatal  principles, 
which  threaten  the  bulwarks  of  centuries.  Now  it 
seems  to  us  Mr.  Breton's  new  scheme  encourages  the 
spirit  of  uneasiness  among  the  working  classes ;  he 
may  think  he  gives  them  enough ;  their  wants  and 
complaints  will  always  keep  just  ahead  of  the  favors 
granted  them.  They  will  grow  bolder  at  signs  of 
weakness,  and  he  will  soon  find  that  they  have 
passed  beyond  his  power  of  restraint." 

Philip  laid  down  the  morning's  paper  on  his  office 
table.  What  a  stir  his  innovation  had  caused  ;  how 
many  vested  rights  he  seemed  to  be  outraging,  how 
many  terrible  dangers  he  tempted.  Could  it  be,  one 
single  act  of  justice  put  everything  awry,  and  that 


268  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

his  neighbor  had  a  right  to  require  him  to  sin  for  the 
comfort  of  his  class? 

His  paymaster  put  his  head  inside  the  door  ;  he 
looked  anything  but  self-possessed.  The  mill-owner 
started  nervously — was  the  crash  at  hand  ? 

"  Some  gentlemen  to  see  you,  sir — " 

*'  Show  them  in,  of  course." 

Were  they  going  to  take  him  by  storm.  Three  of 
the  wealthiest  manufacturers  in  the  state  walked  in 
and  shook  his  hand,  then  came  three  agents  of  large 
corporations,  and  lastly,  Giddings,  the  attorney. 
They  talked  of  the  tariff  and  the  president's  policy, 
and  the  money  market.  At  last  the  attorney  cleared 
his  throat,  and  an  impressive  silence  followed.  One 
gentleman  took  up  the  newspaper  and  became  sud- 
denly very  much  absorbed  in  its  contents  ;  another 
opened  his  penknife,  and  began  to  pare  his  finger- 
nails very  carefully.  But  how  Giddings  had  changed  ; 
not  alone  in  his  dress  which  had  become  threadbare 
and  untidy,  but  in  his  face  which  had  grown  abnor- 
mally red,  at  least  in  spots,  as  if  he  had  become  dis- 
sipated and  bankrupt  at  the  same  time.  Well,  he 
would  make  a  very  respectable  fee  out  of  this  day's 
work  to  mitigate  his  bankruptcy  perhaps,  but  to  in- 
tensify his  dissipation. 

"  But  we  had  a  more  especial  errand  here  to- 
day," .began  the  attorney  with  a  propitiatory  smile. 
"  The    truth    is,  Mr.  Breton,  your    benevolence    is 


VEJiV  ODD.  269 

playing  the  deuce  with  all  these  gentlemen.  Their 
help  have  grown  uneasy  and  fault-finding,  and  we 
have  lost  the  old  argument  that  we  are  doing  the 
best  we  can  for  them,  for  they  can  point  to  you  who 
are  doing  better." 

*'  What  do  you  wish  me  to  do  ?  "  asked  Philip, 
in  a  queer  tone,  as  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and 
braced  one  knee  on  the  table. 

The  lawyer  glanced  triumphantly  around  among 
his  clients.  Old  Giddings  hadn't  lost  his  brains  yet, 
if  he  did  drink  a  bit  too  much  sometimes.  They 
ought  to  have  called  him  in  before  ;  the  boy  wasn't 
obstinate  if  a  little  diplomacy  was  used. 

*'  My  dear  sir,  we  wouldn't  presume  to  dictate,  I 
express  your  feelings,  do  I  not,  gentlemen  ?" 

"  Entirely  so,"  assented  the  gentleman  with  the 
newspaper.  "  Certainly,"  remarked  the  guest  who 
was  still  paring  his  nails. 

"  But  we  really  feel,"  resumed  the  lawyer, 
smoothly,  *'  as  if  you  ought  to  retrace  your  steps, 
and  stand  with  the  rest  of  us.  We  ought  to  present 
a  bold  and  unbroken  front  to  the  enemy." 

"The  enemy?"  repeated  Philip,  doubtfully. 

**  Oh  !  that  is,  the  laboring  classes,  of  course." 

''  But  what  reason  could  I  give  for  retracing  my 
steps  ?"  asked  the  young  man  modestly  enough. 
"  The  people  in  my  mills  are  so  delighted  with  their 
new  dignity  and  profit  as  stockholders  in   the  busi- 


2  JO  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

ness,  that  I  ought  to  have  a  very  good  explanation 
to  give  them  for  such  a  proceeding  as  you  suggest. 
They  take  a  new  interest  in  their  work.  The  divi- 
dend the  poor  creatures  get  is  very  small,  but  it 
seems  enough  to  change  the  very  look  in  their 
faces." 

*'  Ahem  !  why,''  Giddings  wasn't  getting  along 
as  well  now.  He  was  more  disposed  to  think  the 
young  mill-owner  a  conceited  puppy.  One  or  two 
of  the  wealthy  and  important  clients  frowned  un- 
favorably on  their  indiscreet  attorney,  who  had  let 
in,  indeed  fairly  invited  this  irrelevant  talk. 

'*  You  ask  how  to  explain  the  change  to  them. 
Well,  tell  your  help  times  are  hard,  and  there  won't 
be  any  surplus  next  year,  dismiss  the  committee 
who  will  want  to  fumble  over  your  books.  Expla- 
nations— they  couldn't  understand  accounts  or  busi- 
ness secrets  cannot  be  exposed."  Giddings  smiled 
shrewdly.  "  It  is  easy  enough  to  fool  them  ;  the 
difficulty  comes  when  you  try  to  improve  their  con- 
dition ;  regular  cattle,  you  can  drive  them,  but  it  is 
the  deuce  of  a  job  to  lead  them." 

The  gentleman  with  the  newspaper  threw  it 
down  very  abruptly. 

"  Why,  Breton,  you  are  giving  us  all  away,  and 
your  policy  is  suicidal  besides.  How  are  we  going 
to  get  rich  on  half  profits  ?  We  can  take  what  we 
choose — what  fools  we  would  be  to  give  up  our  ad- 


VERY  ODD.  271 

vantage  !  Of  course  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  folks, 
but  I  don't  care  to  make  myself  poor  too.  You 
can't  expect  a  man  to  risk  his  money  for  a  five  per 
cent  rate  of  interest." 

"'  Very  true,  not  when  they  can  get  twelve  or 
twenty,  but  we  would  all  invest  money  at  five  per 
cent,  rather  than  get  nothing  for  it.  We  tax  the 
world  too  much  to  keep  us  rich." 

The  man  with  the  penknife  shut  it  with  an  em- 
phatic click.  "  Our  skilled  work,  as  managers,  de- 
serves big  rewards.  What  would  the  work  of  your 
thousand  help  be  worth  without  your  guiding?" 

''  Or,"  added  Philip  with  a  smile,  *'  what  good 
would  my  guiding  be,  without  their  hands  ?  They 
are  equally  important  in  their  place,  equally  enti- 
tled to  a  share  in  the  profits  produced  out  of  the 
dead  capital  by  our  united  efforts."  Then  he  rose 
suddenly  to  his  feet.  ''  I  would  like  to  show  you 
through  my  mill." 

The  visitors  looked  at  each  other  queerly,  but 
one  after  another  stood  up  in  response  to  his  invita- 
tion, and  in  a  moment  more  were  following  him 
towards  the  factory. 

He  led  them  first  into  the  room  where  the  cotton 
was  emptied  out  of  the  great  bales  and  torn  by  re- 
volving knives  into  the  finest  shreds,  while  steam 
fans  carried  off  every  particle  of  dirt  or  waste.  The 
room  was  hot   and   the  air  full  of  dust  and  bits  of 


2/2  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

floating  cotton.  The  four  or  five  men  that  tended 
the  grand  machines,  fairly  shone  with  the  perspira- 
tion, and  their  shirts  were  open  at  the  neck  for  freer 
breath.  The  ratthng  machinery  overwhelmed  all 
ordinary  tones  of  voice,  and  the  men  had  learned  to 
be  silent  ;  so  from  long  habit  their  faces  had  acquired 
something  of  the  expression  of  the  dumb.  Thence 
Philip  conducted  his  guests  to  the  room  where  the 
rolls  of  cotton  were  still  further  cleansed,  where  one 
boy  had  the  care  of  a  long  row  of  frames.  They  fol- 
lowed the  cotton  to  the  human-like  mules  as  they 
were  called,  which  twisted  the  thread  all  ready  for 
weaving,  and  then  to  the  looms  whose  angry  clatter 
was  like  the  rebellious  voices  of  ten  thousand  sprites, 
forced  to  do  the  work  of  men  without  reward.  A 
girl  or  a  man  more  rarely  had  charge  of  five  or  six  of 
the  looms  each  ;  they  had  all  the  same  look  of  deaf 
and  dumb  mutes  ;  quite  shut  out  as  they  were  from 
the  human  social  life  from  the  dawn  to  the  setting 
sun.  The  dull,  cheerless  routine  of  their  life  was  not 
changed  ;  under  the  new  system  the  terrible  roar  and 
rattle  of  the  machinery  was  no  softer  than  of  old,  but 
there  was  no  face  in  all  that  great  factory,  but  that 
had  a  happier,  brighter  look  than  of  old,  not  a  bend- 
ing form  but  seemed  to  have  a  new  spring  and  vi- 
tality. All  the  men  and  girls  and  even  the  little 
children  wore  better  clothes,  and  looked  much  cleaner 
than  they  used,  and  perhaps  it  was  partly  this  which 


VER  Y  ODD.  273 

heightened  their  self-respect,  so  that  they  showed  no 
disposition  to  avoid  the  eyes  of  their  distinguished 
visitors.  Tiie  sullen  expression  which  is  so  familiar 
on  the  faces  in  great  factories  was  gone.  Their  young 
master  had  planted  a  little  seed  of  hope  in  every  soul 
of  them  all,  and  its  first  slight  sprouting  had  given 
them  that  pride  in  their  work  which  marks  the  dis- 
tinction between  slaves  and  freemen. 

"  A  little  more  money  for  each  one,  that  makes 
all  the  difference,"  said  Philip  as  he  conducted  his 
guests  out  into  the  open  air,  where  they  could  hear 
each  other's  voices  again.  Seven  cold  faces  met  his 
pleasant  glance. 

"  But  a  little  for  each,"  suggested  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen, "  means  a  pretty  good  lump  out  of  you. 
There  isn't  enough  to  go  around.  It's  my  opinion  it 
isn't  possible  for  only  a  few  to  have  much  chance  in 
this  world.  The  world  is  too  poor.  There  isn't 
enough  to  go  around." 

''  Not  if  everybody  asked  to  live  as  he  does," 
thought  Philip,  *'  and  earn  as  little."  But  he  said 
nothing:  he  led  them  to  his  tenement-houses  and 
showed  them  the  signs  of  a  new  ambition  after  taste 
and  comfort  and  even  refinement.  It  appeared  in 
very  little  things,  in  particulars  one  would  hardly 
notice,  perhaps  a  new  door  mat  on  the  step  or  a  cloth 
curtain  instead  of  a  paper  one,  sometimes  a  rosebush 
in  the  front  yard.  But  it  was  a  change  which  makes 
18 


274  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

a  house  over  into  a  home  ;  the  men  and  women  in 
the  Breton  Mills  suddenly  had  homes,  and  one  would 
think  these  gentlemen  of  uncounted  wealth  envied 
their  new  blessings,  from  their  frowning  brows. 
Then  Philip  showed  them  the  village  schools  fairly 
crowded  with  the  children  of  the  poor;  most  of 
them  old  enough  to  earn  a  few  dollars  a  month  in 
the  mill.  They  seemed  strangely  ignorant  for  their 
age  ;  the  simplest  lessons  were  hard  for  them,  and 
yet  there  was  hardly  a  face  of  them  but  had  a 
certain  shrewd  unchild-like  look ;  they  had  borne 
the  crushing  burdens  of  life  too  soon  poor  little 
things. 

''  Isn't  it  worthwhile  to  enable  the  mill  people  to 
send  their  children  to'school  ?  "  urged  Philip  eagerly. 
**  They  used  to  have  to  grind  every  pound  of  work 
out  of  their  puny  little  forms  to  keep  the  wolf  from 
the  door.  It  was  a  terrible  sight  to  me,  gentlemen — 
the  torturing  of  the  soft  muscles  and  weak  little 
limbs,  which  stunted  and  deformed  their  bodies,  and 
dwarfed  their  unshaped  minds  and  hearts.  Nothing 
can  excuse  a  system  that  requires  such  sacrifices  as 
that  ;  better  burn  our  mills  and  go  back  to  savage 
life  if  we  cannot  pity  these  babies." 

"  But  education  only  makes  the  poor  more  un- 
easy," remarked  one  of  his  portly  visitors.  ''  I 
believe  it  does  them  more  harm  than  good."  Philip 
looked  indignation  at  the  speaker,  whose  round  face 


VERY  ODD.  275 

was  of  a  soft  pink,  from  high  living  and  rare  wines 
of  fabulous  prices. 

*'  You  are  right,  if  all  the  good  you  count  is  to 
run  your  mills  forever  at  starvation  prices." 

Then  he  showed  them  his  factory  stores,  and  as 
he  explained  his  system  in  full  to  them  he  saw  they 
were  interested  at  last.  All  vestiges  of  scowls  were 
gone,  and  their  eyes  snapped  delight  as  they  asked 
the  most  minute  questions.  Philip  was  well  pleased. 
If  they  would  adopt,  in  their  own  mills,  even  so 
much  as  this,  it  would  be  a  step.  So  he  told 
them  where  he  bought  his  groceries  and  goods 
of  all  sorts,  *  and  the  excellent  terms  he  could 
make.  He  explained  how  little  additional  help 
it  required  to  carry  on  the  stores  and  the  im- 
mense saving  to  his  poor  of  the  cost  of  living. 
He  showed  them,  too,  by  his  books,  how  many 
of  the  evils  of  the  credit  system  were  obviated  by 
the  simple  method  of  letting  those  who  desired, 
draw  provisions  against  their  unpaid  month's 
wages. 

The  pink-faced  gentleman  turned  smilingly  to 
his  companions,  "  We  must  certainly  try  this  at 
home ;  we  are  very  much  obliged,  Mr.  Breton." 

"  I  hope  your  help  will  appreciate  the  change," 
smiled  Philip. 

"  Ahem — well  it  isn't  so  much  that — ahem — but 
if  we  can  lower  the  cost  of  living  so  much — ahem — 


276  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

we  think  labor  ought  to  be  cheaper,  eh,  gentlemen  ? 
Wages  can  be  cut  down." 

Philip  bit  his  lip  and  turned  his  face  away  to 
hide  his  intense  chagrin.  He  had  only  put  new 
weapons  in  their  hands  to  fight  the  "  enemy."  Was 
it  possible  that  every  progress  in  science  and  each 
successful  invention  which  the  world  rejoices  over 
only  sweeps  into  the  coffers  of  the  rich  more  and 
more  of  the  wealth  the  poor  have  earned. 

"Well,  Mr.  Breton,"  said  the  pink-faced  gentle- 
man, as  the  guests  prepared  to  go,  "  we  cannot  but 
hope  our  visit  may  not  prove  in  vain  for  you.  You 
will  come  round  in  good  time.  You  must  have 
some  of  your  father's  blood  in  you,  ha,  ha,  ha." 

But  Philip  was  in  no  laughing  mood.  "  No,  but 
you  or  your  children  will  see  the  right  clearer.  We 
are  only  a  few,  after  all,  compared  with  the  millions 
held  in  bondage,  yes,  bondage  for  want  of  a  few  dol- 
lars ;  they  ought  to  have  some  chance.  You  say 
there  isn't  enough  wealth  to  go  around,  but  give 
them  a  chance  and  they  will  produce  enough  to 
make  every  creature  on  the  earth  comfortable  and 
contented.  Their  arms  are  strong  and  their  wills 
good  if  they  have  a  spark  of  hope,  and  there  is  cer- 
tainly work  enough."  Philip  looked  around  at  the 
seven  politely  surprised  faces,  and  nipped  his  enthu- 
siasm in  the  bud.  The  only  reply  they  had  for  him 
was  a 


F£J?V  ODD.  277 

'•'Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Breton." 

It  was  an  hour  later  that  Philip  pushed  back  his 
chair  from  the  office  table  preparatory  to  going 
home.  He  did  not  acknowledge  to  himself  a  certain 
sweet  excitement  that  affected  him  as  he  rose  to  his 
feet,  much  less  the  cause  of  it ;  and  he  laid  it  to 
ordinary  masculine  vanity  that  he  paused  a  moment 
before  a  mirror  before  he  went  out. 

It  was  not  the  same  face  he  used  to  see  in  the 
glass.  His  black  moustache  had  grown  heavy  and 
completely  hid  his  rather  unartistic  upper  lip,  but  it 
was  not  that  had  changed  him  so  much.  His  fore- 
head had  some  new  lines  in  it  and  there  was,  some- 
how, a  firmer  look  about  the  corners  of  his  mouth ; 
the  youth  and  freshness  that  had  lasted  for  twenty- 
six  summers  had  given  place  on  the  twenty-seventh. 
There  was  a  self  poise  and  suggestion  of  reserved 
force  in  him  now  that  stood  for  some  very  rapid 
development  of  character.  The  mirth  and  gayety 
seemed  gone  out  of  him  ;  he  fancied  now  he  was  the 
sort  of  man  would  make  the  young  straighten  their 
laughing  faces  when  they  saw  him.  He  was  certainly 
immensely  more  entertaining  before.  If  a  woman 
did  not  like  him  then  she  would  not  be  likely  to  love 
him  now.  Women  like  to  be  amused,  and  the  humor 
seemed  all  crushed  out  of  him.  And  yet  there  are 
women  who,  when  it  comes  to  falling  in  love,  don't 
seem  to  choose  the  men  who  please  them  most ;  as 


278  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

likely  as  not  the  rudest  of  all  their  lovers,  possibly 
the  one  who  would  disdain  to  amuse  them,  and  who, 
from  appearances,  would  be  the  one  least  likely  to 
make  a  home  happy. 

As  Philip  went  up  the  hill,  his  quick  eyes  caught 
a  glimpse  of  a  woman's  dress  by  Mr.  Ellingsworth's 
gate,  and  in  a  few  steps  more  he  could  see  it  was  the 
shade  of  blue  Bertha  loved.  Why  might  it  not  be 
Bertha,  why  not,  only  that  he  was  so  eager  it  should 
be  ?  He  hurried  as  much  as  he  dared — how  strongly 
his  heart  was  beating.  She  might  turn  any  moment 
and  go  into  the  house.  He  tried  to  think  of  what 
he  could  say  to  her  if  it  was  she,  he — 

Yes  it  was  Bertha,  her  face  was  turned  away, 
showing  him  only  the  perfect  Greek  profile,  and  the 
uncovered  coils  of  ber  wonderful  golden  hair.  Her 
hand  rested  on  the  gate  as  she  looked  off  on  the 
hills.  How  grand  her  thoughts  must  be  to  harmonize 
with  the  superb  dignity  of  her  face.  Philip  felt 
guilty  at  disturbing  her,  but  it  had  been  so  long.  He 
came  quite  near,  so  near  that  the  magnetic  thrill  of 
her  presence  touched  him  more  deeply,  more  tenderly 
he  thought,  than  of  old,  but  she  had  not  turned.  He 
saw  the  path  of  care-born  lines  across  her  forehead, 
that  had  been  smooth  as  marble ;  there  was  a  faded 
look  on  her  cheeks,  less  full  than  they  used  to  be,  and 
their  exquisite  color  less  evenly  spread,  her  hand  was 
whiter  and  showed  its  blue  veins  almost  painfully. 


VER  V  ODD.  279 

His  heart  ached  over  her,  his  proud  Bertha,  why  could 
not  God  have  spared  her,  he  would  rather  have  died 
and  saved  her  the  care  and  suffering  that  had  stricken 
her  loveliness.  Then  she  turned  at  the  sound  of 
footsteps,  and  a  great  wave  of  tenderness  swept  over 
his  soul.  He  looked  at  her  so  eagerly,  so  gently 
that  it  seemed  her  face  might  soften  a  little,  but  it 
did  not,  nor  was  there  any  mark  of  startled  surprise 
at  his  coming  so  suddenly  upon  her. 

"■  It  is  you,  Philip,"  even  her  voice  was  changed, 
there  was  a  new  hardness  in  it.  She  reached  out  her 
cold  white  hand  to  him. 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  speak.  It  seemed  as 
if  his  heart  would  break,  there  was  such  a  stress  upon 
it.  And  then  he  was  afraid  she  might  be  ashamed 
before  him,  ashamed  of  the  terrible  injustice  she  had 
done  him,  ashamed  of  the  blot  that  had  touched  her 
name.  But  whatever  she  might  have  felt,  there  was 
no  sign  of  any  emotion  on  her  impassive  face. 

*'  And  you  are  the  mill-owner  now,"  she  said. 
"  How  odd  it  seems."  She  smiled  graciously,  but 
still  he  could  not  speak.  He  could  only  look  down 
at  the  thin  blue-veined  hand  he  held,  and  keep  back 
the  sob  that  trembled  on  his  lips  for  his  lost  love. 

And  that  smile  and  such  words  as  those  were  all 
she  had  for  him  at  last.  He  had  to  look  away  for 
strength  to  speak.  He  must  think  of  some  com- 
monplace, that  would  not  startle  her  repose.     Ah  ! 


280  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

there  was  the  doorway  where  she  had  given  him  the 
first  ardent  caress  of  his  life  the  last  time  he  had 
talked  with  her,  the  night  she  forsook  him.  Did  she 
remember,  he  wondered?  He  looked  back  at  the 
cold  beautiful  eyes,  and  the  amused  smile  yet  Hnger- 
ing  on  her  lips. 

*'Yes,  it  does  seem  very  odd." 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

Out^  Dam7ied  Spot. 

PHILIP  dipped  his  pen  in  the  ink-stand.  He 
was  sitting  in  his  study  at  home,  later  into  the 
afternoon  than  usual.  Nothing  unimportant  could 
have  detained  him  so  long  fromx  his  factory,  and  be- 
sides, there  was  a  look  of  unusual  solemnity  on  his 
face.  Philip  Breton  had  just  written  his  will.  It 
was  a  very  elaborate  instrument,  prepared  from 
memoranda  of  the  ablest  lawyer  in  the  state.  A 
moment  ago  he  had  signed  it,  and  the  names  of  the 
witnesses  were  not  dry  yet.  He  had  been  uneasy 
for  a  long  time,  that  the  destiny  of  the  thousand 
creatures  who  worked  in  his  mill,  and  of  their  suc- 
cessors forever,  should  hang  on  so  feeble  a  thread  as 
a  human  life,  which  might  snap  before  he  could  give 
spontaneous  energy  to  the  plans  that  now  only 
lived  in  his  brain.  He  wrote  in  large,  plain  letters, 
across  the  back  of  the  paper,  ''  The  Last  Will  and 
Testament  of  Philip  Breton."  Then  he  read  the 
whole  instrument  over  again — the  magna  charta  of 
Bretonville.  How  glad  the  village  would  be  when 
his  will  came  to  be  known — when  it  was  found  that 


282  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

the  mill-owner  had  not  been  satisfied  with  what  he 
could  do  in  his  lifetime,  but  had  placed  his  benevo- 
lence on  a  perpetual  footing,  to  reach  back  his  hand 
from  his  grave,  to  shower  blessings  on  the  laboring 
poor  God  had  committed  to  his  charge.  Some  men 
had  wives  and  children  to  work  for,  to  defend,  to 
hope  for.  If  he  had  been  happy,  and  blessed  with 
love  and  kisses,  he  might  have  been  like  the  rest, 
never  listening  to  the  groans  of  his  poor  under  bur- 
dens too  heavy  for  them  to  bear.  His  heart  would, 
perhaps,  have  been  too  full  of  the  little  wants  and 
trivial  discomforts  of  his  own  circle,  his  mind  too  busy 
with  plans  for  the  future  of  his  sons,  while  a  thou- 
sand dreary  hopeless  lives  wore  themselves  out  in 
the  struggle  for  their  scant  bread,  with  never  one 
pitiful  thought  from  him. 

Philip  Breton  was  relieved,  now  that  he  had 
made  his  will.  He  folded  it  carefully,  and  put  it  in 
his  inner  breast  pocket.  Perhaps,  he  thought 
sadly  enough,  if  he  should  die  this  moment,  it  would 
be  better  for  Bretonville,  for  his  will  might  waver 
while  he  lived  ;  he  might  not  be  able  to  sustain  his 
high  tone,  but  once  dead,  nothing  could  be  changed; 
the  words  that  an  idle  stroke  of  his  pen  could  make 
null  and  void,  when  once  his  hand  became  rigid  in 
death,  would  leap  forth  from  the  written  page  into 
potent  everlasting  life.  Suddenly  he  remembered 
another  occasion  when  he  had  sat  at  this  very  table, 


OUT,  DAMNED  SPOT.  283 

he  had  been  interrupted  by  the  servant  bringing 
him  a  letter — no,  it  was  a  note  from  Bertha.  And 
he  had  been  very  happy,  fancying  the  shadow  had 
now  gone  from  his  Hfe.  He  had  opened  this  very 
table-drawer,  when  the  maid  had  tapped  at  the  door  ; 
he  was  searching  for  something  at  the  time.  Oh  !  it 
was  one  of  Bertha's  pictures,  and  it  must  be  here 
still.  In  a  moment  more  he  was  unclasping  a  mo- 
rocco case,  then  gazing  with  such  tenderness  as  one 
has  for  the  dead,  on  the  delicately  tinted  oval  of 
Bertha's  beautiful  face,  in  porcelain.  The  great  blue 
eyes  seemed  to  look  surprise  and  reproach  at  him. 
It  had  been  taken  long  ago,  before  so  much  as  a 
dream  of  sin  had  tainted  the  holy  innocence  of  her 
girlhood. 

Philip  closed  his  lips  very  tightly;  he  longed 
unutterably  for  her  lost  innocence  ;  he  hungered  so 
desperately  for  the  maidenly  purity  that  looked  out 
of  these  startled  eyes.  If  she  had  died  then,  he 
might  have  cherished  her  memory ;  oh  what  had  he 
done  that  he  should  be  punished  so  terribly?  Then 
the  memories  of  the  day  when  the  picture  was  taken, 
came  rushing  back  upon  him. 

They  two  had  been  sitting  in  her  garden  on  the 
afternoon  of  a  summer  day.  It  was  two,  three, 
almost  four  years  ago,  but  he  could  see  the  bloom- 
ing roses  and  hear  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  bees  as  if 
it  were  yesterday.     He  had  been  reading  a  love-poem 


284  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

to  her ;  that  was  as  near  as  he  dared  come  to  love- 
making  ;  sometimes  letting  his  voice  soften  and  trem- 
ble a  little  over  the  tenderer  passages.  He  was  but 
a  timid  lover,  and  Bertha  so  royally  cold.  Suddenly 
glancing  at  her,  he  saw  she  was  overcome  with  the 
heat,  and  had  fallen  asleep  leaning  her  shapely  head 
back  against  the  rough  bark  of  the  tree.  Her  fingers 
loosely  clasped  in  her  sloping  lap  suggested  perfect 
repose ;  the  girlish  bosom  rose  and  fell  with  her  still 
breathing  and  there  was  an  exquisite  pout  on  her  lips 
as  if  vaguely  mutinous  against  the  hardness  of  her 
pillow.  His  heart  was  beating  violently  as  he  laid 
aside  his  book,  and  seated  himself  on  the  bench  by 
her  side.  But  he  dared  not  profane  the  vestal  purity 
of  such  sleep  as  her's  ;  he  devoured  her  face  with 
his  eyes  but  did  not  steal  one  kiss  from  the  red  lips, 
though  there  was  such  a  sweet  mute  invitation  on 
them.  But  he  put  his  arm  about  her,  and  drew  her 
toward  him  as  gently  as  if  she  were  a  sleeping  infant, 
and  made  her  head  rest  on  his  shoulder.  Then  he 
looked  down  the  red-tinged  cheeks,  Hke  the  woods 
in  autumn's  tenderest  mood,  swept  by  her  long 
golden  eye-lashes,  and  tried  to  fancy  she  was  awake 
though  her  eyes  were  closed,  and  that  she  was  will- 
ing her  head  should  rest  on  his  breast  and  her  hair 
like  fine  threads  of  twisted  Roman  gold  kiss  his 
burning  face. 

But  she  moved  in  her  slumber,  and  then  her  star- 


OUT.  DAMNED  SPOT.  2%% 

like  eyes  opened  and  looked  mute  astonishment  into 
his  eager  face.  For  one  startled  moment,  she  did 
not  move,  and  in  sudden  boldness  from  the  liberty  he 
had  already  taken,  he  poured  his  passionate  declara- 
tions into  her  ears,  covering  her  hair  and  her  forehead 
and  then  her  cool  white  hands  with  kisses. 

"You  frighten  me,  Philip."  Her  quick  startled 
tones  as  she  rose  to  her  feet  yet  rung  in  his  ears. 
She  looked  at  him  as  if  half  of  a  mind  to  run  away. 
*'  I  don't  understand  you,"  she  said  reproachfully. 
The  porcelain  picture  is  just  as  she  was  then. 

"  Why  Bertha  !  "  He  had  risen  too  ;  but  she  drew 
back  from  him.  "I  love  you  ;  I  want  you  for  my 
wife." 

How  coldly  she  had  looked  at  his  flushed,  excited 
face.  He  thought  it  was  the  supreme  moment  in  his 
life  ;  but  it  seemed  to  be  nothing  to  her. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Why  I  thought  you  were  mad." 

Ah,  and  the  same  madness  burned  in  his  soul 
this  moment  ;  time  could  not  wear  it  out  ;  shame, 
outrage,  desolation  could  not  kill  it.  He  rose  to 
his  feet  and  pushed. the  tinted  porcelain  away  from 
him. 

"■  But  the  woman  is  spotted  with  shame,  her  purity 
that  you  worshipped  has  been  dragged  in  the  dust." 
He  paced  the  room  like  a  caged  lion  ;  he  was  only 
a  gentle-hearted  man,  caught  in  a  dilemma,  with 
only  a  choice  of  agonies,  out  of  all  the  beauty  and 


286  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

love  in  the  world.  But  had  she  not  left  the  man 
who  had  degraded  her,  had  she  not  repented  her 
folly  ?  And  after  all  he  had  not  loved  her  because 
her  acts  had  always  pleased  him,  but  because — be- 
cause her  nature  made  harmonies  that  stirred  his 
soul  to  sweetest  accord.  She  had  made  a  mistake, 
ah,  a  cruel  mistake.  What  then  ?  Men  err  griev- 
ously and  are  forgiven.  Women  are  weaker,  whose 
glory  is  their  gentleness.  When  they  err,  shall  their 
lives  be  trampled  out  of  them  by  the  nail-shod  boots 
of  their  lords  and  masters  ;  shall  shame  and  infamy 
be  fed  to  their  quivering  lips  forever?  Rather  let 
some  man's  constant  love  gather  his  frightened  dar- 
ling to  his  bosom  and  soothe  every  memory  of  re- 
proach out  of  her  bruised  heart. 

Philip  arose  to  go  out  and  his  face  was  lighted 
up  with  a  new  holy  joy.  But  it  was  only  for  a 
moment  and  then  a  great  shadow  passed  over  his 
features. 

But  this  woman  cared  nothing  for  him.  She 
never  could  have  loved  him.  He  remembered  his 
last  meeting  with  her  at  her  father's  gate,  how  his 
whole  nature  had  been  racked  with  conflicting  waves 
of  emotion,  with  fear  lest  her  superb  pride  should 
be  wounded — with  longing  to  draw  her  to  his  throb- 
bing heart,  and  with  the  bitter  flood  of  memories 
that  almost  caught  away  his  breath.  And  she  was 
as  cold  as  a  woman  of  marble,  with  never  a  softening 


OUT,  DA MNED  SPOT.  28/ 

expression  in  her  queenly  eyes,  as  if  a  blessed  past 
of  mutual  love  and  peace  had  ever  been  between 
them — not  one  smile  of  joy  that  she  met  him.  "  I 
will  wait,"  he  said,  but  as  he  spoke  he  took  his  hat 
and  went  out. 

Mrs.  Silas  Ellingsworth  was  all  smiles  and  grace 
as  Philip  entered  her  parlor,  and  as  she  shook  hands 
with  him,  lingered  as  cordially  over  the  greeting  as 
if  she  had  quite  forgotten  her  pretty  fingers  had  ever 
been  on  his  throat.  She  made  him  take  a  seat  and 
began  to  make  conversation  with  him,  as  if  she  sup- 
posed he  had  called  to  see  her.  But  suddenly  she 
affected  to  be  struck  with  an  idea. 

''  Oh,  I  know  why  you  are  not  more  talkative, 
you  didn't  come  to  see  me  at  all."  She  stepped  to 
the  door.     ''  Susan,  call  Miss  Ellingsworth." 

"  Miss."  Then  there  was  no  longer  any  room 
for  doubt.  Philip  shrank  at  the  blow  she  gave  him. 
He  had  thought  all  uncertainty  was  gone  long  ago, 
but  he  found  that  up  to  this  very  instant  he  had 
cherished  a  spark  of  hope  that  Bertha  had  a  right 
to  the  name  of  the  man  she  had  fled  with.  And 
she  was  *'  Miss  "  still.  His  hostess  was  saying  some- 
thing, but  he  did  not  hear  it,  there  was  such  a  death- 
ly faintness  about  his  heart. 

Then  there  came  a  step  in  the  hall,  and  his 
familiar  thrill  of  tenderness  at  her  coming,  which 
seemed,  at  this  moment,  like  a  flash  of  lightning  on 


288  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

the  face  of  one's  beloved  dead.  She  lingered  an 
instant  on  the  threshold,  an  old  habit  of  hers  that 
gave  him  time  to  step  forward  and  meet  her. 

Mrs.  Ellingsworth  had  risen,  too,  and  was  waiting 
to  speak.  It  was  only  tenderness  in  Philip  Breton's 
eyes  as  he  took  both  Bertha's  hands  so  gently,  but 
she  said, 

'*  Am  I  very  much  changed  then  ?  "  and  a  pained 
look  flitted  across  her  face.  Philip  did  not  answer 
her  for  a  moment,  he  was  so  distressed  at  her  inter- 
pretation of  the  love  that  made  his  sight  misty  as 
he  gazed  at  her. 

**  Well,  I  suppose  I  am  in  the  way,"  remarked 
the  mistress  of  the  house,  with  inbred  vulgarity. 
She  was  smiling  sweetly,  but  women's  smiles  do  not 
always  signify  amiability.  *'  I  suppose."  she  added, 
letting  her  skirts  touch  her  two  guests  as  she  passed 
out,  "  you  want  to  talk  over  old  times  with  Miss 
Ellingsworth." 

It  was  the  last  terrible  assurance  ;  Philip  winced 
again  at  the  heartless  blow,  but  not  so  much  as  a  flush 
passed  over  Bertha's  cold  face.  She  accepted  the  name 
without  even  a  shade  of  silent  denial  on  her  calm 
features,  though  it  was  the  badge  of  shame  for  her. 

"-  Oh  no,"  but  he  dared  not  look  her  in  the  face 
for  fear  she  should  see  his  anxious  pity  for  her. 
"  You  have  been  ill,  perhaps,  but  I  always  thought 
vou  the  loveliest  woman  in  the  world." 


OUT,  DAMNED  SPOT.  289 

She  smiled  as  she  let  him  lead  her  to  a  seat,  '^  You 
always  said  that."  Then  she  glanced  sadly  into  the 
mirror.  '^  But  it  is  more  pleasant  to  hear  now,  for  I 
know  I  am  not  pretty  any  longer." 

Could  she  understand  that  the  change  that  had 
come  over  her  radiant  beauty  only  changed  his  love 
to  make  it  deeper  ?  Could  she  not  see  the  new  in- 
tensity of  yearning  in  his  eyes  as  he  raised  them  to 
her  face  again  ?  He  longed  to  draw  her  into  his  arms 
and  kiss  her  tired  face  into  eternal  smiles.  His  love 
had  been  refined  into  a  new  divineness  ;  a  love  capable 
of  all  sacrifices  for  her  ;  that  asked  no  price  but  would 
pour  itself  in  an  eternal  flood  against  her  dull  indif- 
ference, if  it  must  be  ;  a  love  more  pain  than  joy,  of 
unutterable  yearnings  for  what  he  believed  she  could 
never  have  for  him  ;  a  love  that  had  a  fountain  more 
exhaustless  than  any  woman's  kisses  ;  that  would 
seem  to  grow  on  her  unresponsiveness,  that  welled 
up  the  mightier  for  her  coldness,  content  if  here- 
after it  might  throw  a  little  brightness  on  the  path 
her  snowy  feet  should  tread,  content  if  she  would  but 
let  him  warm  her  cold  heart  with  his  burning  love. 

''Are  you  glad  to  be  at  home?"  he  asked 
gently. 

"  Do  you  call  this  home,  with  my  servant  its  mis- 
tress? "     For  a  moment  it  was  Bertha  as  she  used  to 
be,  her  anger  curling  her  red  lips  and  flashing  new 
fire  into  her  tired  eyes. 
19 


290  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  Does  she  insult  you  ?  "     Then  Philip  bit  his  lip, 
but  apparently  he  was  far  more  sensitive  than  she. 

"  It  is  insult  enough  that  she  is  my  father's  wife. 
She  cannot  go  beyond  that." 

"  Shall  you  stay  here  always  ?  "  asked  Philip  stu- 
pidly enough. 

"  I  suppose  so,  where  else  is  there?  " 
A  wild  impulse  touched  him,  he  loved  her  and 
she  needed  love,  had  he  not  waited  long  enough? 
But  a  sudden  fear  came  into  his  mind  and  chilled  his 
hope  like  a  frozen  fountain.  She  might  have  a  child 
— how  strange  he  had  never  thought  of  it  before. 
Ah,  it  would  be  a  strong  love  could  endure  that,  a 
baby  to  hang  on  her  bosom  and  take  her  kisses,  a 
baby  with  Curran's  face.  No,  he  could  never  bear 
that,  anything  better  than  that.  Her  sin  he  could 
forgive;  though  it  must  linger  forever  in  his  memory 
he  would  bury  it  beneath  more  blessed  experiences. 
His  love  should  hallow  her,  he  would  kiss  away  Cur- 
ran's caresses  from  her  lips.  But  if  there  were  a 
child- 
Philip  started  violently  and  looked  at  the  door; 
he  fancied  he  heard  a  sound  like  the  pattering  of  in- 
fant feet.  In  a  moment  Bertha  would  catch  to  her 
arms  her  child  and  Curran's  and  half  smother  it  with 
a  mother's  kisses. 

"  Isn't  that  a  child's  voice  ?  "  he  cried,  rising  to  his 
feet  and  his  eyes  rested  on  her  in  a  new  pitiful  re- 


OUT,  DAMNED  SPOT.  29 1 

proach.  He  thought  she  started  strangely,  as  if  a 
mother's  instincts  stirred  in  her  bosom. 

''  Oh  no,  it  is  only  Jane,  I  mean  Mrs.  Ellings- 
worth.     What  an  innocent  little  laugh  she  has." 

A  child,  with  sweet  winning  ways,  is  a  strange 
thing  to  hate,  a  lovely  little  rosebud  to  blossom  no 
one  knows  how  faultlessly  by  and  by.  But  Philip 
thought  he  would  hate  her  child — Bertha's  child, 
perhaps  with  his  darling's  star-like  eyes  ;  ah,  was  it 
not  Curran's  too,  the  symbol  of  her  shame?  As  he 
walked  home  in  the  twilight  he  saw  in  each  toddling 
baby  in  the  doorways  and  windows,  an  image  of  his 
own  materialized  fear  and  horror.  Philip  looked 
back  from  the  hill  on  which  stood  his  home,  to  the 
village  his  father  had  built  up.  Those  massive  mills 
with  their  thousands  of  looms  were  his  ;  those  lonsf 
rows  of  white  houses,  each  one  of  which  held  a  family 
rich  in  possibilities  of  virtue  and  hope,  they  all  were 
his,  and  the  new  element  of  brightness  and  thrift, 
that  had  made  the  whole  village  a  nursery  of  comfort 
and  happiness,  was  his  work.  Behind  him  was  the 
great  stone  m.ansion  with  its  arched  gothic  windows 
green  with  clustering  woodbine,  it  was  his  too.  How 
powerless  he  thought  all  that  wealth  and  material 
power  can  do  to  solve  one  of  the  terrible  problems  a 
heart  makes  for  itself. 

Moodily  he  walked  to  his  stables,  in  a  kind  of 
vague  longing  for  companionship,  and   threw  open 


292  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

the  doors.  Four  horses  stood  in  their  stalls  within, 
noble  looking  creatures  all  of  them.  They  turned 
their  stately  heads  toward  the  sound  of  their  master's 
feet,  they  returned  his  love  with  love.  One  of  them 
whinnied  welcome  and  laid  back  his  ears  as  his  mas- 
ter came  into  the  stall  beside  him. 

''  Poor  fellow,  good  boy,"  Philip  patted  his  white 
neck  affectionately.  *'  You  would  do  what  you 
could  for  me,  wouldn't  you,  Joe.  I  know  you  would, 
old  fellow."  He  laid  his  cheek  against  the  animal's 
velvet  nose.  "  But  you  couldn't  go  fast  enough  to 
get  me  out  of  this  trouble,  not  if  you  died  to  do  it." 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

No  Barrier. 

SENSITIVENESS  is  a  very  unfortunate  quality 
in  a  life  where  no  object  is  molded  in  accord- 
ance with  the  strict  rules  of  art,  where  there  is  no 
character  but  has  a  repulsive  spot  in  it,  no  history 
but  with  its  dark  page.  The  happy  man  is  neither 
too  enthusiastic  over  the  virtues  of  his  acquaintance, 
which  may  be  accidental  or  merely  a  pretty  optical 
delusion,  or  too  stern  and  unrelenting  towards  a  sin, 
which  he  fancies  might  have  been  a  virtue  under 
different  conditions.  But  Philip  Breton  had  fallen 
out  with  life.  The  great  world  seemed  to  jar  him  as 
it  rolled  ;  each  hour  had  revealed  unguessed  means  of 
suffering,  and  even  the  beams  of  genial  sunlight  had 
daggers  for  him.  He  only  wondered  why  all  man- 
kind did  not  prefer  to  die,  instead  of  this  foolish 
laughing  and  affecting  to  be  happy;  he  had  looked 
on  life  as  a  mechanism  of  satanic  ingenuity  for  tor- 
ment in  which  each  man  is  made  to  arrange  his  own 
rack  and  then  stretch  his  tired  body  upon  it  in  sweet 
hope  of  love  and  peace. 

Yet   it  is  hard  for  a  man  to  understand  that  his 


294  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

fate  may  be  pure  unalloyed  pain  ;  he  Is  ever  smiling 
through  his  tears  and  trying  to  awake  from  his  de- 
spair as  if  it  were  but  a  dream  of  disordered  fancy. 
So  as  the  next  morning  came,  and  Philip  Breton 
threw  open  his  door  to  go  out  into  the  sweet-scented 
September  air  he  felt  happier  than  for  many  weeks  ; 
the  peace  that  came  over  him  seemed  to  leave  no 
place  for  cruel  distrust  and  unrelenting  pride.  He 
even  reproached  himself  for  his  ungenerousness  of 
yesterday ;  the  world  of  nature  left  no  unsightly 
wounds  and  breaks  in  the  whole  dominion.  Gaping 
graves  are  soon  covered  with  green  grass  and  wild 
flowers ;  life  springs  quickly  out  of  death,  and  appa- 
rent ruin  is  soon  forgotten  in  renewed  magnificence. 
Why  should  he  then  let  two  lives  be  wrecked  for  one 
wrong  act  in  the  past — forever  past? 

He  swung  down  his  walk  in  a  new  buoyancy  ;  he 
believed  he  had  passed  through  the  cloud,  and  come 
out  into  the  clear  light  of  reason.  And  only  last 
night  he  had  been  so  far  from  hope.  It  was  all  his 
own  arrogance,  setting  himself  up  to  be  the  judge  of 
another's  life,  when  he  could  not  know  the  mood  that 
had  swayed  her,  or  the  temptations  she  had  striven 
Avith.  But  he  did  know  she  was  as  pure  in  heart  as 
the  day  ;  he  did  know  the  exquisite  balance  of  her  na- 
ture, that  charmed  him  of  old — charmed  him  still. 
What  folly  for  him  to  linger  over  a  past  she  had  laid 
aside,  and  that  left  her  as  lovely  in  his  eyes  as  ever. 


NO  BARRIER.  295 

But  at  his  gate  a  carriage  rolled  slowly  by  him. 
It  contained  a  bridal  couple,  and  he  stopped  to 
smile  at  them.  The  girl's  face  had  no  culture  in  it, 
but  was  sweet,  and  had  the  innocence  of  childhood. 
That  ungainly  fellow,  who  now  wore  his  first 
broadcloth  suit,  at  whom  she  looked  so  fondly,  was 
the  only  lover  she  had  ever  known.  She  had  no 
secrets  from  him,  no  past  his  jealous  eyes  might  not 
scan  without  a  pang.  Her  soul  was  open  to  him. 
No  whisper  to  her  shame  could  ever  reach  his  in- 
sulted ears.  Her  life  was  commonplace,  but  no  blot 
was  on  it,  no  guilty  thought  had  ever  left  its  trail 
across  her  heart.  The  rough  lad,  who  was  bold 
enough  to  put  his  arm  about  her  waist  in  broad  day- 
light, could  pour  his  foolish  love-making  into  her 
eager  ears  without  stint.  There  was  no  theme  he 
must  avoid  with  her,  no  page  in  her  life  he  must  not 
cut. 

And  were  there  so  few  spotless  women  in  the 
world,  that  Philip  Breton  could  not  have  one  to 
fold  to  his  heart  ;  to  sit  at  his  table  ;  to  brighten  his 
home?  His  peace  was  gone  so  soon,  he  suddenly 
hated  the  genial  sunlight,  with  its  eternal  smile, 
and  the  smell  of  roses  seemed  to  strangle  him. 

It  was  that  same  day  toward  evening,  that  he 
met  the  village  policeman  leading  along  an  unwil- 
ling prisoner.  It  was  a  woman  whose  hair  was 
disheveled,  and  her  thin,  faded  cheeks  tear-stained. 


296  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

She  had  been  powdered  and  rouged,  but  there  was 
nothing  only  pitiableness  in  her  appearance  now. 
It  was  plain  enough  to  see  that  shame  was  the  por- 
tion of  her  life,  plain  enough  to  have  gathered  a 
crowd  of  boys  at  her  heels,  whose  coarse  jokes  and 
insults  made  the  creature  hang  her  head.  Philip 
stopped,  and  the  crowd  drew  closer  to  hear  a  moral 
lecture.  "  Will  you  try  and  live  an  honest  life,  if 
you  are  let  go  this  time  ?" 

The  woman  looked  up  quickly  at  the  kind, 
troubled  face  of  the  young  man.  She  laid  her  hand 
on  his  arm  in  her  eagerness,  and  the  crowd  laughed. 
She  began  to  tell  her  story  ;  true  or  false,  it  was 
enough  to  break  a  man's  heart,  but  she  rolled  it  off 
her  tongue  glibly.  She  had  told  it  a  thousand  times, 
as  an  excuse  for  her  past,  to  call  out  a  little  sympathy, 
which  reaches  to  all  classes  but  hers.  The  policeman 
would  have  stopped  her,  but  though  he  interrupted 
her  a  dozen  times,  and  the  crowd  glared  insultingly  at 
her  poor  hunted  face,  and  jeered  and  laughed  at  the 
saddest  turns  of  her  old,  old  story,  she  did  not  stop 
till  she  had  finished  it.  The  young  mill-owner  had 
grown  pale  and  his  face  twitched  nervously  as  she 
talked  ;  his  eyes  did  not  leave  her  faded  face,  nor  did 
he  open  his  lips  till  she  was  done.  He  was  about  to 
speak,  but  the  policeman  broke  in  roughly, 

''  There's  no  use,  squire ;  when  they've  got 
started  there's  no  savin'  'em." 


NO  BARRIER.  297 

"Please  give  me  one  chance,"  pleaded  the  harsh, 
grating  tones  of  the  lost  woman.  '*  If  I  had  a  little 
money  to  start  me,  I — " 

Philip  had  opened  his  pocket  book,  and  her 
greedy  eyes  were  devouring  the  rolls  of  bills  within. 

He  handed  her  a  few  dollars.  / 

"  Better  let  her  go  this  time." 

He  shuddered  and  walked  on.  He  would  rather 
half  his  wealth  he  thought,  than  have  met  this 
fallen  woman  just  now.  She  had  started  in  his 
brain  such  a  terrible  current  of  thought.  She  had 
suggested  such  comparisons.  He  was  afraid  he 
could  never  forget  her ;  that  Bertha  and  this  be- 
draggled, painted  creature  would  be  forever  asso- 
ciated in  his  thoughts.  He  would  rather  half  his 
wealth  than  have  seen  her. 

After  his  tea  that  evening  he  had  flung  himself 
wearily  on  a  sofa,  the  mad  whirl  of  horrible  thoughts 
and  fears  that  day  had  made  him  almost  sick.  He 
wished  he  might  sleep,  and  never  wake,  since  wak- 
ing meant  renewed  agony,  and  renewed  horrors  of  a 
morbid  fancy.  And  he  slept  and  dreamed  ;  he  stood 
in  the  church  with  his  bride,  and  the  minister  was 
pronouncing  them  man  and  wife.  A  warm  glow  of 
happiness  was  about  his  heart  at  last,  after  his  long 
waiting.  All  his  fears  and  shame  seemed  things  of 
the  past ;  he  seemed  to  be  looking  back  with  wonder 
at  his  own  misgivings.     But  suddenly  his  blood  was 


298  -  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

congealing,  he  tried  to  cry  out  to  stop  the  fatal 
words,  for  his  bride  was  the  rouged  creature  he  had 
saved  from  jail,  and  the  same  jeering  crowd  of  loafers 
were  pointing  their  soiled  fingers  at  him. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  the  perspiration  standing  in 
great  drops  on  his  forehead,  and  found  it  had  be- 
come quite  dark  as  he  had  slept.  His  great  house 
was  as  still  as  death  ;  that  was  always  so,  but  it  op- 
pressed him  intolerably  now,  and  he  caught  his  hat 
from  the  table  and  hurried  out  to  his  stables  between 
sleeping  and  waking.  In  a  few  moments  he  had 
saddled  and  bridled  Joe,  the  white  horse,  and  had 
mounted  him.  He  was  in  just  the  mood  for  a  wild 
ride,  but  still  he  had  to  wait,  a  gentleman  stopped 
him  as  he  turned  out  of  his  drive-way. 

''  No,  I  won't  come  in,  I  see  you  are  just  going 
for  a  ride,"  said  his  acquaintance.  ''  By  the  way,  I 
suppose  you  are  going  to  Low's  wedding  to-mor- 
row." 

"  I  hate  weddings,"  answered  Philip,  whipping 
his  boot  and  then  pulling  his  horse  in  when  he 
started.     He  was  thinking  of  his  dream. 

''  Oh,  but  this  bride  is  such  an  excellent  girl. 
Such  a  wife  as  you  ought  to  have,  Breton.  Caesar's 
wife  you  know,  must  be  above  suspicion,  ha,  ha — 
Well,  I  see  your  horse  is  impatient.  I  won't  keep 
you,  ta,  ta." 

"  Fool,"   muttered   Philip  as  his  horse  bounded 


NO  BARRIER.  299 

down  the  street.  He  rode  past  Mr.  Elllngsworth's 
house,  and  looked  up  at  Bertha's  window;  his  eyes 
turned  up  to  its  dim  hght,  though  he  swore  to  him- 
self he  would  not  look.  He  galloped  by,  and  the 
words  of  the  young  fop  echoed  in  his  ears,  "  Caesar's 
wife  must  be  above  suspicion."  Clack,  clank,  went 
his  horse's  hoofs,  but  what  were  they  saying;  to 
Philip's  ears,  it  seemed  to  be  ''  Csesar's  wife,  CcTesar's 
wife  " — clack,  clank,  *'  must  be,"  clack,  clank,  *'  above 
suspicion." 

And  the  world  was  full  of  beautiful  women,  whose 
lives  were  as  sweet  and  pure  as  an  unsullied  rose. 
Ah,  he  could  never  bear,  never,  that  his  wife  should 
be  pointed  at  with  smiles  of  derision. 

*'  Good-bye,  Bertha,  good-bye,  my  darling,  you 
must  reap  what  you  have  sowed  ;  cruel  is  it  ?  So  is 
life  and  nature  cruel,  the  hand  put  in  the  fire  must 
surely  burn.  Unmagnanimous  ;  must  a  man  then  put 
a  soiled  lily  in  his  bosom  ? 

But  he  stopped  his  horse  so  suddenly  the  animal 
had  to  plant  his  feet  to  keep  from  falling.  He  loved 
the  soiled  lily,  loved  it  more  than  all  the  fresh  roses. 
All  other  women  might  as  well  never  have  been  born 
for  him  ;  this  woman  he  would  have  died  for.  Could 
he  not  protect  her  from  evil  tongues;  if  she  were 
trampled  could  he  not  lift  her  into  his  bosom  ;  if  she 
w^ere  insulted  could  he  not  put  his  man's  heart  and 
strength  between  her  and  shame  ?     A  sudden  revul- 


300  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

sion  of  feeling  passed  over  him  ;  he  blessed  the  fop 
who  had  driven  his  disordered  fancy  so  far  that  re- 
action came ;  the  devils  and  fiends  that  had  tor- 
mented him  so  long  seemed  vanquished  ;  they  had 
disguised  themselves  in  the  raiment  of  angels  of  light 
and  purity;  they  had  prated  virtue  and  holiness  to 
him,  but  this  moment  he  saw  they  were  cowards  and 
liars  all.  He  would  hurry  to  his  darling,  throw 
himself  at  her  feet,  her  past  should  be  buried,  her  life 
should  begin  with  his  happiness  to-night. 

''You  want  to  marry  Bertha?  I  supposed  you 
were  acquainted  with  her  past." 

It  was  in  Mr.  Ellingsworth's  room,  where  he  sat 
in  dressing-gown  and  slippers,  well  back  in  his  easy 
chair.  He  was  looking  at  Philip  Breton  very  curi- 
ously. He  had  really  fancied  he  understood  human 
nature  before. 

"  I  suppose  I  am,"  answered  Philip,  simply. 

"  Well,  I  know  more  of  it  than  I  wish  I  did.  She 
ran  away  with  a  beggar,  and  she  has  come  back.  I 
dislike  unpleasant  memories,  so  I  avoid  unpleasant 
information.  You  know  her — her — her  relations 
with  Curran,  yes,  well,"  and  the  gentleman  shrugged 
his  slight  shoulders,  ''  no  doubt  you  know  what  you 
are  doing,  you  run  your  ov\m  risks." 

''  Risks  ?  " 

"  Understand  me,  I  asked  but  two  questions, — 
have  you  left  Curran  forever  ?  do  you  want  to  come 


NO  BARRIER.  3OI 

home?  I  had  heard  she  had  never  been  married. 
Jane  has  heard  it.  I  feared  it.  Do  you  wonder  I  did 
not  ask,  not  caring  for  a  disagreeable  certainty? 
Well,  do  your  own  questioning.  I  suppose  the  fact 
of  her  keeping  her  maiden  name  shows  something." 

What  if  she  should  find  she  was  indeed  married 
after  all,  when  he  had  at  last  decided  he  could  not 
live  without  her  ;  when  he  had  at  last  made  up  his 
mind  that  he  must  have  her  if  he  took  a  burden  of 
life-long  shame  into  his  soul  with  her?  That  would 
be  a  wretched  freak  for  fortune  to  play  with  him  ; 
but  how  foolish  he  was,  did  not  her  name  prove 
that  she  was  unmarried  ? 

*'  But  I  hate  so  to  harrow  up  her  memories,''  said 
Philip,  in  an  unsteady  voice  ;  "  to  make  her  confess 
her  shame  before  me.  I  should  think  that  would 
be  a  father's  duty." 

''  Can  it  be,  my  dear  Philip,"  remarked  Mr.  EUings- 
worth,  with  his  own  brilliant  smile,  "  that  you  know 
me  so  little  as  to  expect  me  to  perform  an  unpleas- 
ant duty.  There  are  people  that  love  them — that 
never  seem  so  much  in  their  element  as  when  en- 
gaged in  some  act  of  self-sacrifice.  You  must  really 
excuse  me." 

When  Philip  went  down  into  the  parlor,  Bertha 
was  sitting  there  alone,  and  his  fate  seemed  thrust 
upon  him.  Before  he  had  time  to  dread  breaking 
the  subject  to  her  he  stood  at  the  back  of  her  chair, 


302  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

looking  down  on  her  thin,  white  fingers  moving  over 
her  embroidery  work.  He  laid  his  hand  very  gently 
on  her  shoulder.  Ah,  it  was  less  round  than  it  used 
to  be.  She  was  good  enough  to  keep  her  eyes  fixed 
on  her  work.  There  was  no  shade  of  heightened 
color  on  her  cheeks,  nor  did  she  quicken  her 
breathing. 

''  Bertha,"  he  began,  in  a  low,  sweet  voice,  ''  I 
am  going  to  ask  you  something."  Still  she  did  not 
look  up. 

"  If,  at  some  time  before  you  died,  a  man  whom 
you  liked  came  and  asked  you  to  marry  him,"  he 
spoke  very  slowly,  "  is  there  any  reason  why  you 
must  say  no?  " 

Not  one  flush  or  nervous  tremor.  She  threaded 
her  needle  again  with  the  red  worsted.  *'  What  do 
you  mean  by  reason  ?  " 

'''■  I  mean,"  he  said,  in  forced  calm,  "  is  there  any 
barrier  which  the  laws  make  to  prevent  you  from 
marrying  him  ?  "  How  lovely  she  looked  to  him  as 
he  waited,  how  had  he  ever  hesitated  when  he 
thought  she  was  free  ?  Since  he  had,  of  late,  begun 
to  dream  of  marriage,  he  had  thought  only  of  the 
barrier  of  her  shame  ;  he  had  not  thought  that  there 
might  be  a  barrier  more  impregnable.  But  it  came 
over  him  all  the  more  terribly  now.  That  would  ex- 
plain' her  lack  of  shame,  her  unbroken  pride,  that 
would  be  more  consistent  with  his  lifelong  idea  of 


NO  BARRIER.  303 

her,  that  she  had  preserved  her  honor  and,  alas,  was 
already  married  and  cut  forever  away  from  him. 
That  would  save  her  purity  that  he  had  thought 
sullied.  No  fingers  of  scorn  could  ever  be  pointed 
at  her.  No,  but  she  would  be  lost  to  him  forever. 
God  forgive  him,  then,  if  he  would  rather  have 
her  dishonored,  insulted,  degraded,  than  lose  her. 
Would  she  never  answer?  She  laid  down  her  needle 
and  turned  her  face  up  toward  him.  He  trembled 
like  a  child  as  he  watched  her  lips  part ;  in  a  moment 
his  fate  would  be  decided;  it  was  terrible  that  his 
happiness  could  come  only  through  her  shame,  and 
her  honor  meant  a  life  of  despair  and  loneliness  for 
him,  but  so  it  seemed  to  him  now. 

''  There  is  no  barrier,"  she  said. 

"  Thank  God,"  he  whispered  ;  the  strain  was  re- 
moved ;  she  had  established  her  own  disgrace  with 
her  own  lips,  without  a  drooping  of  her  eyes,  with- 
out a  quiver  of  her  lips.  Ah,  but  he  suffered  in  his 
very  hope  ;  it  wounded  him  that  he  must  rejoice  in 
her  shame ;  it  was  almost  as  if  he  had  caused  it. 
He  bent  low  over  her  shoulder,  in  another  moment 
he  would  have  told  her  of  the  unchanging  passion  — 
of  his  love,  all  the  bounds  of  his  nature  were  broken 
down  now  ;  his  whole  soul  seemed  dissolving  in  in- 
effable tenderness  for  this  cold  woman  into  whose 
calm  beautiful  eyes  he  looked  so  hungrily. 

*'  Like  embroidery,  don't  you,  Mr.  Breton  }  " 


304  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Mrs.  Ellingsworth  flashed  her  small  black  eyes 
in  delight.  Philip  started  back  in  ill-concealed  dis- 
may, but  Bertha's  face  changed  not  one  shade  of  ex- 
pression as  she  rose  magnificently  to  her  feet  and 
swept  from  the  room. 

The  lady  of  the  house  looked  unpleasantly  after 
her. 

''  Isn't  it  funny  she  don't  se-em  to  like  me?  Do 
you  suppose  it  is  that  Curran  scrape  has  put  her  so 
much  above  me  ?  " 

Philip  glanced  savagely  at  her  ;  he  could  almost 
have  struck  her,  without  thinking  of  her  womanhood, 
there  was  such  a  snake-like  look  in  the  glistening 
black  eyes.  One  might  as  well  reproach  a  wild 
creature  of  the  forest  for  following  out  its  instincts; 
but  after  a  moment  he  said  : 

"  Mrs.  EUingsworth  forgets  she  is  a  lady." 

But  she  was  beautiful,  if  not  a  lady,  her  hot  blood 
lighting  up  her  round  olive  cheeks  as  if  it  were 
liquid  fire  and  her  curled  lips  glowing  like  a  perfect 
rose  just  bursting  into  bloom.  No  man  could  look  at 
her  now  and  not  feel  a  mad  soulless  fascination  for  her, 
a  fascination  the  greater  because  mixed  with  revulsion. 
She  was  a  perfect  type  of  the  womanhood  that  can 
madden  a  man  with  passion,  without  tenderness,  that 
can  wreck  his  life,  banish  every  noble  hope  or  ideal 
from  his  soul  and  feed  him  nothing  but  dead-sea 
fruit. 


NO  BARRIER.     '  305 

"  It's  strange  what  makes  a  lady,"  she  answered 
him  in  growing  excitement.  "  Your  Bertha  is  one  no 
matter  what  vileness  she  sinks  to,  but  I  can't  whis- 
per one  rude  word." 

She  came  close  to  him  and  put  her  burning  fin- 
gers on  his  hand.  ''  Your  horse  loves  you  better 
than  that  woman  ;  she  will  torture  you  to  death,  let 
her  alone."  Then  she  sprang  away  from  him  and 
walked  backward  and  forward  clasping  and  unclasp- 
ing her  clinging  fingers  in  her  old  habit.  "  Oh,  I 
hate  her,  I  hate  her,  but  what  good  is  it  ?  I  would 
dash  myself  to  pieces  to  break  her,  but  I  could  not. 
She  steals  my  lover  and  then  leaves  him  ;  she  comes 
back  disgraced  in  the  eyes  of  her  own  father,  but  she 
does  not  feel  it.  And  now  comes  her  lover  with  his 
riches  and  offers  everything  to  her.  She  deserves 
nothing  but  she  gets  everything."  She  would  have 
raved  on  but  Philip  Breton  walked  slowly  out  of  the 
room.  Nothing  could  ever  move  him  now  ;  he  pre- 
ferred the  woman  she  maligned  to  all  the  other  hopes 
or  possessions  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  Race  with  the  Cars. 

IT  was  the  next  afternoon,  as  Philip  Breton  was 
unhitching  Joe  from  the  post,  that  he  had  occa- 
sion to  doff  his  hat  to  Mrs.  EUingsworth,  driving  by 
with  her  husband.  They  made  a  very  pretty  picture 
of  marital  bliss  ;  perhaps  they  were  all  the  happier 
because  neither  of  them  had  souls.  Philip  had  been 
intending  to  go  to  his  factory,  there  was  some  busi- 
ness he  ought  to  attend  to,  but  the  sudden  assur- 
ance that  Bertha  was  alone,  made  his  heart  give  a 
great  bound.  What  better  time  than  now  to  tell 
her  of  his  unaltered  love,  to  win  her  promise  to  let 
him  make  her  happy  ?  So  his  business  was  post- 
poned, and  he  rang  the  bell  at  Mr.  Ellingsworth's, 
instead. 

*'  Not  in?'*  he  repeated  after  the  servant  in  dis- 
may. Would  his  luck  never  change  ?  Had  she  been 
frightened  at  his  manner  the  night  before,  and  gone 
away  to  avoid  his  unpleasant  suit  ?'' 

"  But  she  isn't  far  away,"  and  the  girl  smiled  at 
the  disappointment  that  had   come   over  his  face. 


A  RACE   WITH   THE  CARS.  307 

*'  I  guess,  now,  you  will  find  her  in  the  garden  ;  or  I 
will  call  her  if  you  say." 

"  No,  don't  call  her,"  and  Philip  hurried  out  to 
the  garden.  What  more  fitting  place  for  what  he 
had  to  say,  if  he  could  find  his  voice  for  the  great 
lump  in  his  throat.  He  ought  to  be  very  eloquent 
to  persuade  her,  to  answer  all  her  objections,  to  as- 
sure her  that  it  was  not  pity  that  moved  him,  for 
she  would  resent  that,  but  love — a  love  that  craved 
her  above  all  the  world. 

She  looked  up  from  her  embroidery,  at  the  sound 
of  his  footsteps,  and  smiled.  Her  beauty  might  all 
go,  as  its  first  bloom  and  freshness  had  gone,  and  her 
cheeks  fade  like  the  autumn  leaves  whose  criowincf 
tints  they  had  once  worn  ;  her  golden  hair  might 
whiten  with  age,  he  knew  it  would  make  no  differ- 
ence in  his  love.  She  wore  the  same  dress  she  had 
worn  in  that  other  garden  scene.  She  had  grown 
thin  and  gone  back  to  the  dresses  of  her  girlhood. 
It  was  a  light  blue  silk,  open  low  in  the  neck,  filled 
in  with  nestling  folds  of  lace.  The  sunbeams  made 
their  way  through  the  low  hanging  trees,  and  with 
them  came  the  breath  of  the  roses,  and  the  hum- 
ming of  the  bees,  just  as  on  that  other  day. 

Philip  seated  himself  on  the  bench  beside  her, 
and  tried  to  make  his  voice  calm  as  he  said, 

"  Do  you  remember  when  you  last  wore  this 
dress  ?" 


308  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Would  she  be  frightened  at  the  intensity  of 
gentleness  in  his  voice  ? 

But  she  smiled  as  frankly  at  him  as  if  he  were  her 
brother,  "  Oh,  yes." 

He  put  his  hand  on  her  arm,  cool  as  if  love  and 
passion  were  forever  outside  her  experience.  ''Ber- 
tha, I  love  you  more  now  than  then.  I  will  not 
frighten  you  with  my  vehemence  ;  I  have  learned  to 
conquer  myself,  I  will  cherish  you  as  a  child,  but, 
oh,  Bertha,  I  want  you  near  me." 

The  woman  did  not  draw  away  from  him.  She 
was  looking  with  a  changed  expression  at  his  eager 
face — the  face  of  the  lover  whom  no  coldness  could 
chill,  who  returned  again  after  her  desertion  of  him, 
whom  no  shame  could  alter.  He  had  stirred  some- 
thing like  admiration  in  her  at  last.  A  tinge  of  del- 
icate color  rose  from  her  neck  among  the  folds  of 
lace,  and  mounted  to  the  roots  of  her  golden  hair. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  moved  her. 

''  And  you  love  me  as  much  now  as  that  day  I 
fell  asleep  on  your  shoulder — ages  ago,  it  must  have 
been?"  Then  her  great  blue  eyes  drooped  under  the 
intensity  of  love  that  looked  from  his  face — a  love 
beyond  her  power  to  understand. 

He  gathered  her  hands  in  his.  "  As  much  and 
more — a  deeper,  purer,  gentler  love,  that  will  protect 
you  against  its  own  very  vehemence — that  would 
rather  make  sacrifices  for  you  than  joys  for  itself." 


A  RACE   WITH  THE  CARS.  309 

**  Take  me  then,"  and  she  let  him  draw  her  head 
on  his  breast,  where  she  felt  the  throbbing  grow- 
ing mightier  and  mightier,  though  he  only  pressed 
his  lips  upon  her  cool  forehead.  Then  she  drew 
back  ;  she  did  not  look  in  his  face,  which  had  a  great 
light  in  it,  perhaps  she  was  ashamed  that  she  had 
nothing  to  give  him,  ashamed  that  her  heart  was 
so  cold  under  the  rapture  that  looked  out  of  his 
eyes. 

"  But  Philip,  you  must  not  hurry  me  too  much. 
I  am  slow,  and  this  is  so  sudden,  I  would  as  soon 
thought  of  an  earthquake."  Then  she  glanced  won- 
deringly  at  him,  as  if  to  make  sure.  "  Ah,  Philip, 
you  deserve  a  better  love  than  mine."  But  he  caught 
her  hand  to  his  lips  and  held  it  there,  while  he  cov- 
ered it  with  kisses. 

''  I  would  rather  the  flower  you  wear  in  your 
bosom,  than  any  woman  in  the  world  besides  you.  I 
learned  to  love  with  you,  Bertha." 

But  she  took  her  hand  away  uneasily.  "  But  you 
won't  hurry  me  will  you,  Philip  ?  "  How  could  she 
ask  him  to  wait  much  longer,  *'for  if  you  will — " 

"Oh,  no — I  will  give  you  a  whole  week."  He 
laughed,  and  then  grew  suddenly  very  sober. 
''  Haven't  I  given  you  long  enough?  " 

"  I  must  take  a  little  journey  first,"  and  her  eyes 
appeared  to  avoid  his.  A  sudden  tide  of  jealousy 
swept  over  him.     Had  she  deserved  his  trust  ? 


3 1 0  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

"  I  will  go  with  you.  It  shall  be  our  wedding 
journey." 

She  flushed  nervously — "  Oh,  no,  not  yet." 

Where  could  she  be  going?  To  one  last  inter- 
view with  Curran,  perhaps,  and  he  felt  that  he  could 
not  bear  one  thought  of  him  should  ever  cross  her 
soul  again.  How  short  a  time  it  took  to  spoil  his 
happiness.  The  glow  had  left  his  heart,  the  light  had 
gone  out  of  his  eyes,  all  in  a  moment.  Is  misery 
then  the  only  thing  that  can  last  ? 

**  Only  this  once,"  she  said.  "You  shall  go  with 
me  always  then." 

His  mood  melted  and  in  a  moment  he  was  kneel- 
ing before  her.  "  Oh,  Bertha,  be  fair  with  me — for 
you  hold  me  in  the  hollow  of  your  hand.  Do  not 
fail  me  now  when  you  have  seemed  so  near  me." 

She  put  her  hand  on  his  bowed  head,  perhaps 
some  sweet  word  trembled  on  her  lips.  He  hun- 
gered for  it,  and  when  she  did  not  speak,  he  looked 
up  into  the  face  of  his  bride.  She  had  seemed  so 
far  from  him,  a  world  could  not  have  parted  them 
more,  but  he  was  at  her  feet,  and  she  had  promised 
to  be  his  wife. 

"  My  dear  Philip,  excuse  me,  but  you  are  crush- 
ing my  embroidery."  So  he  was,  he  was  kneeling 
on  it  in  his  fond  idolatry,  as  if  a  piece  of  worsted 
work  were  of  no  account.  He  found  his  feet,  and 
cast  a  pathetic  glance  at  the  square  of  canvas  before 


A  RACE    WITH  THE  CARS.  3TI 

he  stooped  to  pick  it  up.  It  was  strange  indeed  that 
he  should  have  been  so  carried  away  in  his  passion- 
ate ardor  as  not  to  notice  what  he  was  kneeling  on. 

"■  I  hope  I  have  not  ruined  your  work,"  he  said 
simply.  No,  he  had  only  rumpled  it  a  little,  and  he 
would  have  been  willing  to  purchase  all  the  canvas 
and  worsted  in  two  cities,  rather  than  have  missed 
the  tender  word  he  thought  was  on  her  lips. 

It  was  several  hours  later  and  Philip  still  sat  in 
his  office.  He  was  doing  his  best  to  attend  to  his 
correspondence,  but  such  a  mist  of  joy  floated  before 
his  eyes  he  could  hardly  see.  He  had  accomplished 
almost  nothing  and  finally  pushed  away  the  pile  of 
papers — to-morrow  might  do  for  them,  his  heart  was 
too  full  of  joy  for  work.  He  had  surely  waited  and 
suffered  enough  to  win  a  few  hours'  respite.  But  the 
door  swung  slowly  on  its  hinges  and  a  tall  massive 
figure  stood  on  the  threshold.  Philip  tried  to  smile, 
but  his  smile  froze  on  his  lips  ;  he  seemed  powerless 
to  move  from  his  chair  ;  his  dreams  of  happiness 
faded  away ;  his  fate  had  come.  The  man  in  the 
doorway  was  Curran. 

The  man  was  as  noble  looking  as  ever.  A  more 
haggard  expression  was  on  his  face,  there  were  deep 
hollows  beneath  his  eyes,  but  the  marks  of  care  and 
suffering  only  gave  a  more  admirable  dignity  to  his 
bearing.  In  the  first  terrible  moment  Philip  Breton 
had  not  the  first  shadow  of  a  doubt  that  Curran  had 


312  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

come  to  claim  Bertha.  Perhaps  he  would  offer  her 
marriage  at  last. 

But  the  man  threw  himself  into  a  chair  in  silence. 
Philip  did  not  even  utter  a  greeting.  If  he  wished 
to  tempt  his  darling  away  to  new  shame  he  would 
have  to  fight  for  her.  Oh,  Philip  would  die  for  her 
honor,  now  that  he  was  warned. 

"  Well,  I  have  got  through  planning  strikes  ;  the 
one  you  saw  started  failed  like  the  rest.  I  have 
learned  what  cowardly  stuff  the  souls  of  the  poor 
are  made  of."  Curran  spoke  in  bitterest  contempt. 
"  That  is  another  of  the  luxuries  of  wealth^— you 
can  afford  to  be  brave  and  noble.  You  can  stand 
by  your  principles.  A  poor  man  can't  afford  it.  He 
sees  everything  the  heart  longs  for,  even  to  a  woman's 
love,  bought  with  money,  and  his  family  starving. 
Can  we  blame  him  for  abandoning  eternal  principles, 
to  escape  the  pangs  of  hunger  a  week  longer  ?  If 
the  poor  would  stand  firm  they  must  win,  but  they 
grow  hungry.     Bah,  what  can  they  do." 

Philip  heard  but  little  that  he  said  ;  he  was  trem- 
bling for  Bertha.  He,  himself,  felt  the  man's  resist- 
less magnetism.  Bertha  had  yielded  to  it  once,  why 
might  she  not  again  ?  She  must  not  see  him  or  her 
proud  womanhood  would  go  down  into  the  dust  at 
his  feet  a  second  time,  and  at  the  thrilling  tones  of 
his  voice  she  would  follow  him  forth  to  new  disgrace. 

'*  You  are  fighting  to  win  money,  and  you  find 


A  RACE   WITH  THE  CARS.  313 

you  must  have  money  before  you  can  fight.  Is 
that  it  ?  " 

"  We  are  not  fighting  to  win  money,"  repHed 
Curran,  rising  nervously  from  his  chair  and  coming 
up  to  where  PhiHp  sat,  "  but  the  rights  of  humanity, 
and  it  is  the  grandest  battle  man  ever  sharpened  his 
sword  for."  He  seemed  to  flash  h'ghtnings  from  his 
magnificent  eyes.  "It  is  nobler  than  all  the  revolu- 
tions and  reformations,  this  emancipation  of  the 
world  from  its  bondage.  Where  are  your  prophets 
and  your  poets  ?  Why  are  they  not  arousing  the 
spirit  of  the  great  armies  of  fighting  men  ?  When 
w^as  there  ever  a  cause  like  this  to  die  for  ?  Where 
are  our  martyrs  ?  The  wave  will  come  and  sweep 
all  mankind  with  it,  when  our  cries  and  prayers  have 
knocked  at  the  gates  of  heaven  long  enough.  It  is 
only  in  times  of  great  excitement  that  great  changes 
come, — excitement  that  makes  small  things  seem 
small,  that  disdains  to  consider  the  violet  that  claims 
a  right  to  blossom  undisturbed  in  the  path  of  the 
army  marching  on  to  the  salvation  of  the  race." 

"Shall  you  wait  till  then?"  Philip  rose  to  go 
out.  The  strain  of  the  man's  presence  was  intoler- 
able ;  such  hate  burned  in  his  heart  for  him,  and  yet 
he  seemed  so  grand  and  noble  above  all  other  men. 

"  Wait?  no,  I  have  wasted  precious  time  enough 
and"  he  caught  his  breath,  *' I  have  been  punished 
for  it.     But  I  shall  pursue   different   methods.     We 


3 1 4  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

have  the  ballot,  the  poorest  man  has  it.  That  is  the 
lever  for  us  to  move  the  world  with.  We  are  a" 
majority.  If  we  want  a  thing  what  hinders  us  from 
havincr  it  ?  The  laws  have  reduced  us  to  a  condition 
of  abject  slavery ;  the  laws  shall  restore  us  our  birth- 
right. But  we  must  be  united,  we  must  agree  in 
what  we  will  seek,  and  that  is  my  work  now.  To- 
day I  have  consulted  the  poor  of  Bretonville  ;  they 
must  help  their  less  fortunate  brethren.  To-night  I 
go  to  the  westward  where  my  district  is.  I  shall 
spread  a  knowledge  of  the  precise  laws  we  need  and 
of  the  precise  means  suitable  to  enact  them.  Peace- 
ably, slowly  but  surely  the  world  will  be  revolution- 
ized." 

"  When  are  you  going  ?  "  Philip  dared  not  look 
him  in  the  face  as  he  waited  for  his  answer;  he  was 
afraid  his  hate  would  show  on  his  face,  his  hate  for 
the  man  who  stood  between  his  life  and  happiness. 

Curran  glanced  at  the  office  clock.  ''  At  six 
o'clock,  why  it  is  but  half  an  hour  before  my  train 
goes,  and  I  have  an  errand  to  do.  Good-bye.  Why 
you  aren't  too  proud  to  shake  hands  !  I  don't  sup- 
pose I  shall  ever  come  back,  there  is  nothing  to  keep 
me,  not  now,  God  forgive  her."  He  turned  back  for 
a  last  word.  ''  I  hope  no  woman  will  ever  break  your 
heart,  somehow  a  man  don't  get  over  it  and  your 
high-bred  women  are  as  cruel  as  the  grave." 

The  six  o'clock  train  was  just  drawing  up  to  the 


A  RACE   WITH  THE  CARS  315 

depot  platform  when  Mr.  Elllngsworth's  carriage 
stopped  on  the  other  side,  and  a  heavily  veiled  lady 
alighted. 

''  Why,  Bertha,  you  must  not  go  on  this  train, 
not  for  worlds."  Philip  was  almost  beside  himself 
with  distress,  "  not  for  worlds,"  he  repeated.  This 
was  the  train  Curran  was  going  on.  Should  he 
trust  his  lamb  in  the  lion's  mouth  ?  He  fancied  Cur- 
ran catching  a  glimpse  of  her  form,  and  coming  to  sit 
with  her  ;  he  would  pour  a  torrent  of  tender  words 
into  her  ear,  her  heart  that  was  cold  to  all  the  world 
besides  would  glow  again  for  him,  again  she  would 
be  lost  to  the  lover  of  her  youth,  again  shame  and 
sin  would  lay  their  evil  tainted  hands  upon  her. 

But  where  was  Curran,  if  he  was  indeed  going  on 
this  train,  the  bell  was  ringing,  the  conductor  had 
given  his  warning?  If  Curran  was  to  stay  might  not 
Bertha  better  go. 

''  Quick,  then  if  you  want  to  go,  the  train  is  just 
starting,"  he  cried  as  he  led  her  across  the  depot. 

"  But  I  don't  want  to  go  unless  you  wish,  not 
to-night,"  answered  Bertha  with  charming  (jocility. 
Philip  looked  around.  He  did  not  see  his  arch  enemy 
and  hers. 

*'  But  I  do  wish  it,  quick.  Good-bye,  my  darling." 
The  steam  escaped  in  great  puffs  from  the  piston 
box,  the  train  started,  Philip  gave  a  great  sigh  of 
relief     If  they  had  met  on  the  platform,  if  at  the  last 


3l6  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

moment,  just  before  the  train  had  started,  Curran 
had  leaped  aboard — why  even  now,  the  train  had  not 
cleared  the  platform,  he  might  come  now  !  Philip 
looked  about  him  ;  thank  God,  he  was  alone. 

But  he  thought  he  heard  a  shout,  yes,  a  man  was 
running  from  the  tenement  houses  at  the  top  of  his 
speed,  and  waving  his  hat.  It  was  Curran  and  he  was 
gaining  on  the  train;  the  lumbering  cars  seemed  to 
crawl  and  he  came  like  the  wind.  It  seemed  but  an 
instant  more  that  he  dashed  across  the  depot  and  up 
the  track.  All  was  lost,  no,  was  the  man  gaining  ? 
Still,  there  was  but  a  rod  between  him  and  the  rear 
platform,  one  more  effort  and  he  would  be  aboard. 
No  it  was  two  rods,  four  rods — the  man  had  lost  and 
sat  down  beside  the  track  to  catch  his  breath,  while 
the  train  went  faster  and  faster  till  it  was  out  of 
sight. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

Woman's  Sy7npathy. 

BERTHA  has  returned,  never  to  leave  her  lover 
again,  in  safety,  and  still  faithful  to  him  ;  his 
fears  were  unfounded,  his  suspicions  rebuked.  It 
was  only  last  evening  that  he  had  looked  into  her 
beautiful  eyes  once  more,  and  it  was  to-day,  she 
had  told  him  he  might  come.  It  was  a  great  day 
for  Philip  for  another  reason,  for  he  was  to  break 
ground  this  morning  for  a  new  mill,  whose  walls  and 
foundations  would  be  cemented  in  love  and  justice. 
In  the  mill-yard  a  hundred  laborers  waited  with 
their  spades  over  their  shoulders,  and  with  them 
the  young  mill-owner,  grasping  a  spade  like  the 
rest.  At  the  contractor's  word  the  iron  glistened  in 
the  sunlight,  and  in  an  instant  more,  a  hundred  and 
one  spades  struck  earth.  Ten  thousand  eager 
workmen  all  over  the  land  were  waiting  en  the  un- 
dertaking ;  each  night  ten  thousand  anxious  tongues 
will  ask  how  many  feet  the  new  walls  have  risen 
that  day ;  will  reproach  the  masons  if  they  are  slow, 
will  bless  them  if  they  work  mightily. 

The  looms  in  the  Breton  Mills  are  still  to-day, 


3 1 8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

the  great  water-wheel  is  unharnessed  from  the  myr- 
iad belts,  while  the  men  and  women  and  children 
gathered  around  the  great  parallelogram  marked  out 
by  the  engineers  for  the  foundation  of  the  new  mill. 
It  was  their  mill,  too,  and  the  face  of  the  poorest 
creature  of  them  all,  reflected  a  little  of  the  blessed 
hope  which  was  making  life  over  for  them.  Not  a 
voice  was  heard,  for  the  moment  all  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  bending  forms.  Philip  Breton's  sHght  form 
was  bent,  too,  as  he  drove  his  spade  deep  into  the 
stubborn  sod.  Every  laborer  stayed  his  hand  for 
the  moment,  till  the  young  master  threw  up  the  first 
earth.  Then  a  cheer  broke  from  each  brawny 
throat,  and  every  spade  at  once  lifted  its  burden  of 
green  turf. 

The  hundred  laborers  bent  again  to 'their  task, 
and  the  frightened  daisies  trembled  on  their  green 
stems,  but  Philip,  spade  in  hand,  had  mounted  the 
steps  of  the  nearest  mill,  and  now  looked  down 
kindly  on  the  operatives  who  gathered  expectantly 
about  him. 

"  I  mean  that  not  one  injustice  shall  ever  dese- 
crate these  new  walls.  I  mean  the  new  mill  shall  be 
a  temple  of  co-operation.  I  believe  the  world  is  just 
entering  on  a  new  epoch,  more  glorious  than  any  be- 
fore, because  blessings  that  have  been  confined  to 
the  few,  comforts  that  have  comforted  only  the  {^\n, 
leisure  and  amusement,  even,  that  has  cheered  only 


IVOAIA iV S  S YMPA  THY.  3  1 9 

the  few,  shall  be  universal  ;  that  each  hand  that  tills 
the  earth  shall  share  in  its  bountiful  harvests  which 
now  pack  the  storehouses  of  a  few  in  senseless  pro- 
fusion ;  that  each  hand  that  weaves  our  cloth  shall 
share  in  its  profits  according  to  his  worth.  It  isn't 
because  the  world  is  so  poor  that  you  have  been 
poor  so  long,  but  because  its  wealth  is  wasted.  But 
be  patient  ;  violence  only  destroys,  it  does  not  build 
up,  and  every  particle  of  wealth  destroyed  leaves  so 
much  less  of  your  heritage.  We  will  not  work  any 
more  to-day  ;  it  shall  be  a  holiday  to  be  kept  sacred 
in  our  memories,  as  an  inspiration  to  more  faithful 
labor,  and  more  honest,  contented  lives." 

For  a  moment  no  one  moved,  till  he  leaned  his 
spade  against  the  wall,  and  started  to  come  down. 
Then  a  murmur  ran  through  the  crowd  till  it 
swelled  to  a  cheer,  and  as  he  made  his  way  out,  he 
had  to  clasp  a  thousand  dingy  hands,  reached  out  to 
the  young  master,  in  token  of  the  love  and  trust  of 
a  thousand  brightened  lives. 

His  destiny  that  had  frowned  so  long  and  so 
terribly,  smiled  at  last.  As  if  by  a  miracle,  his  life, 
that  had  seemed  so  dreary  and  barren,  was  become 
a  path  of  flowers.  All  dangers  were  averted,  all 
evils  turned  into  blessings,  and  it  was  so  short  a 
time  ago  that  he  saw  no  spark  of  joy  in  life.  It  had 
been  like  a  day  when  the  clouds  had  shut  away  the 
sun,  and  settled  gloomily  over  the  earth  for  a  storm. 


320  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

A  shadow  creeps  into  every  human  face,  darkness 
cowers  in  every  home,  the  birds  flutter  in  terror 
from  tree  to  tree,  or  nestle  fearfully  in  their  retreats. 
The  very  brooks  moan  instead  of  babbling.  Then, 
suddenly  the  summer  sun  burns  through  the  clouds 
which  scatter  to  their  caves  beneath  the  hills  ;  the 
rippling  rivers  glisten  and  sparkle  like  rarest  jewels, 
and  the  birds  break  forth  in  song  as  they  mount  in 
ecstasy  towards  the  sunlight.  Not  a  human  thing 
but  brightens  into  sudden  gladness.  So  short  a  time 
ago  he  thought  life  only  a  dull  cheerless  struggle, 
that  he  rose  in  the  morning  heavy  and  disheartened, 
that  he  lay  down  at  night,  careless  if  he  slept  for- 
ever. But  suddenly  the  world  looked  like  an 
enchanted  palace  to  Philip  Breton,  and  his  life 
seemed  as  perfect  as  a  day  in  paradise. 

It  was  at  three  o'clock  that  he  was  to  go  to 
Bertha,  and  it  was  only  two  when  he  was  ready  and 
waiting  in  his  study  for  this  last  slow  hour  between 
him  and  happiness,  to  slip  away.  He  looked  up  the 
street  and  down  again,  but  the  streets  were  quite 
deserted  ;  he  might  have  fancied  the  world  all  gone 
to  sleep,  only  he  heard  the  roar  of  the  waters  going 
over  the  dam.  There  were  a  thousand  creatures 
whose  hands  could  never  rest  idle  unless  he  chose 
to  grant  them  a  holiday.  Poor  souls,  he  had  done 
something  for  them,  but  how  little  it  was  after  all ; 
how  many  weary  centuries  would  roll  by  before,  by 


WOMAN'S  S YMPA  THY.  3 2 1 

such  slow  processes  as  his,  the  millions  would  have 
the  heritage  he  had  spoken  of  to  them.  Could  it  be 
Philbrick  was  right — that  the  terrible  injustice  the 
working  classes  suffered  ought  to  be  rectified  in 
great  acts  of  benevolence?  Then  he  glanced  at  the 
clock.  If  he  had  not  heard  its  loud  ticking  he  would 
have  been  willing  to  swear  the  hands  m.ust  have 
stopped.  He  picked  up  a  newspaper  and  tried  to 
interest  himself  in  it.  What  a  child  he  was,  to  be 
sure,  not  to  know  how  to  wait.  Did  he  imagine 
there  would  be  nothing  more  for  him  to  wait  for, 
after  to-day?  His  eyes  glanced  impatiently  down 
the  pages.  There  seemed  to  be  absolutely  nothing 
in  the  paper  at  all ;  he  must  stop  his  subscription  ;  he 
might  as  well  write  to  the  publishers  now,  it  would 
take  up  a  little  of  his  surplus  time.  But  what  was  this 
odd-looking  advertisement  in  such  very  black  type. 

Divorces  obtained  zvithoitt  trouble  or  publicity,  for 
any  cause  desired.  Address^  in  strictest  confidence^ 
jfohn  T.  Giddings,  No.  4  Errick  Square^  Lockout. 

"Well,  well,"  soliloquized  Philip,  after  reading 
the  card  a  second  time,  *'  our  corporation  counsel  is 
come  down  pretty  low,  getting  bogus  divorces  for  a 
livelihood." 

Then   he   glanced   at  his  watch ;  he  was  out  of 
temper  with  the  pretty  little  clock.     Perhaps  allow- 
ing fifteen  minutes  for  the  distance  to  Bertha's  house 
he  might  not  be  very  much  too  early. 
21 


322  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Philip  found  Bertha  standing,  she  generally  pre- 
ferred to  sit,  and  she  wore  an  anxious  look  he  had 
never  seen  on  her  face  before.  He  thought  to  make 
her  laugh. 

"  I  suppose  Mrs.  Ellingsworth  will  not  miss  her 
chance  to  spoil  our  tete-a-tete^ 

''  She  is  not  in  town,"  and  Bertha  turned  to  the 
window  again.  "  She  went  yesterday.  Do  you 
know  whether  she  has  any  relatives  in — in  Vine- 
boro?" 

*'  Why  that  is  where  you — "  Philip  bit  his  lip, 
"no,  I  didn't  know  that  she  had.'' 

He  came  up  to  where  she  stood,  and,  when  she 
did  not  speak  again,  he  tried  to  take  her  hand.  But 
she  drew  away  from  his  touch  with  a  gesture  of  im- 
patience. 

"  I  am  in  no  mood  for  foolishness."  It  seemed 
foolishness  to  her,  then  !  There  was  a  pang  of  pain 
about  his  heart,  and  then  a  thought  struck  him. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  her,  are  you  ?  " 

She  drew  herself  up  to  her  full  height  in  her  old 
superb  arrogance,  and  her  lips  curled  in  scorn. 

*'  I  will  be  afraid  of  no  one.  If  I  owe  no  one 
a  duty  I  need  not  be  afraid."  She  seemed  to  be 
gathering  force  for  an  instant,  while  her  cold  eyes 
rested  on  the  face  of  the  man  who  loved  her  so  no- 
bly. '*  I  must  take  back  my  promise ;  I  cannot 
marry  you." 


If'OMA  jV'S  S  YMF  A  THY.  323 

"  Do  you  owe  me  nothing  now  then  ?  "  he  pleaded 
in  a  startled  voice. 

*'  Perhaps  so — yes  I  think  I  ought  not  to  make  you 
miserable." 

"  Then  do  not  leave  me  ;  do  not  kill  me,  Bertha, 
after  letting  me  hope."  He  had  seized  her  hand 
ag-ain,  but  she  would  not  let  him  draw  her  to  him. 

"  But  I  should  make  you  miserable."  She 
dropped  her  eyes  before  his.  *'  You  would  not  like — 
like— " 

"  I  will  take  all  the  blame  then,"  he  put  his  arm 
about  her  and  this  time  she  did  not  repel  him.  "  I 
call  God  to  witness  you  will  not  be  responsible ;  I 
will  forgive  you  everything,  my  darling."  She  was 
in  his  arms  but  still  she  held  back  her  face  from  him. 

"  And  you  won't  blame  me  ;  whatever  happens  ?  " 

"  No,  oh,  never."  The  color  came  back  into  his 
face ;  his  triumphant  heart  sent  the  hot  blood 
through  every  vein  and  artery. 

'*  And  you  will  remember  I  warned  you  ?  " 

"Yes,"  he  whispered,  "and  will  remind  you  of  it 
when  you  have  made  me  the  happiest  man  in  the 
w^orld.  But  we  won't  wait  till  Jane  comes  back ;  we 
will  be  married  to-morrow.'' 

"  Oh  no."  Her  smile  was  very  beautiful  and 
sweet  but  as  cold  as  the  river  of  death. 

"  The  day  after,  then.  Say  the  day  after  to- 
morrow, before  anything  has  time  to  happen." 


324  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

He  saw  her  lips  were  forming  for  a  "  no,"  but  lie 
kissed  it  away ;  and  another  and  another,  till  she 
broke  away  from  him  with  a  laugh. 

"  Well  yes,  then  ;  but  you  will  be  sorry  for  it  to 
the  end  of  your  life."  He  made  her  put  on  her  hat 
after  tea  and  they  went  across  the  fields  to  the  village 
cemetery. 

He  had  stirred  her  by  his  enthusiasm  to  an 
unwonted  pitch,  but  now  she  had  become  colder 
than  ever  and  very  silent.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
sorry  for  what  she  had  promised  and  Philip  was  afraid 
each  moment  she  would  open  her  lips  and  take  it  all 
back.  He  talked  very  eagerly  to  her  all  the  way  to 
take  up  her  mind,  telling  her  all  the  plans  he  had 
made  and  how  gloriously  they  seemed  to  be  succeed- 
ing. She  did  not  make  much  response  to  what  he 
said,  but  he  was  only  too  glad  that  she  did  not  re- 
peat the  words  she  had  met  him  with  in  the  after- 
noon. At  last  they  stood  by  a  massive  pillar  of 
granite ;  not  broken  to  signify  an  incomplete  life 
work,  but  perfect  in  symmetry  and  finished  in  out- 
line. Bertha  could  make  out  in  the  deepening  twi- 
light the  name  of  "  Ezekiel  Breton"  cut  deep  into  the 
everlasting  stone. 

"  I  wish  my  father  had  seen  things  a  little  dif- 
ferently, and  could  have  laid  the  foundations  of  all 
the  mills  in  justice  and  charity.  He  could  not  see 
that  we  are  all  men  together,  and  the  wants  he  had 


TVOMA JV'S  S YMPA  THY.  325 

the  workmen  suffered  too.  He  did  what  he  thought 
was  right,  as  do  so  many  thousand  men  to-day,  whose 
every  breath  means,  a  harder  burden  for  the  poor." 

''  What  is  the  use  of  considering  the  poor?  They 
have  no  gratitude,  and  then  they  are  made  differently 
from  us ;  they  have  their  place  ;  let  them  be  content 
with  it.     Your  father  was  right." 

How  cold  and  hard  her  voice  was,  and  he  had 
seen  her  so  enthusiastic  over  the  wrongs  of  the  poor. 

''But  they  ought  to  have  a  chance  to  enjoy  a 
little  more  of  what  they  earn,  there  are  so  many  of 
them."  But  she  made  no  answer,  and  Philip's  heart 
sank  with  the  conviction  that  he  must  carry  out  his 
great  work  as  he  had  begun  it,  alone.  He  had 
counted  so  much  on  her  sympathy ;  he  had  felt  sure 
of  it,  and  he  was  so  lonely  among  the  grand  ideas  he 
had  summoned  into  his  soul,  but  perhaps  it  was  not 
best  for  him  ;    a  man  never  knows. 

"  My  father  would  have  been  very  happy  to  have 
seen  us  married  before  he  died,"  he  said  gently  at 
last,  and  then  flushed  crimson  in  the  darkness  at 
what  he  had  said.  There  were  so  many  subjects  he 
must  never  touch,  so  many  thoughts  he  must  never 
put  into  words,  would  he  ever  remember  them  all  ? 

It  was  quite  dark  when  he  bade  Bertha  good-night 
at  her  gate.  He  had  kept  her  hand  for  a  moment 
after  she  would  have  gone,  in  the  thrilling  indulgence 
of  the  sense  of  possession.     His  heart  was  very  full, 


326  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

his  hope  was  almost  blossoming  into  reality,  at  last, 
when  it  had  seemed  blighted  once  into  despair.  Only 
two  more  days,  and  all  the  storms  that  might  rage 
could  never  separate  them,  but  must  only  make  her 
dear  white  arms  cling  the  closer  to  him.  Why  had 
she  not  said  to-morrow?  it  was  almost  too  much  to 
hope  that  God  would  hold  back  all  his  thunderbolts 
and  all  the  myriad  messengers  of  evil  for  two  days. 
The  wonderful  fate  that  had  brought  her  back  as 
from  death  to  him,  that  had  saved  her  so  strangely 
from  another  meeting  with  the  man  whose  voice 
would  melt  her  will,  and  madden  her  brain  a  second 
time,  made  him  the  more  afraid  now.  The  tide 
would  turn,  perhaps  to-morrow,  perhaps  to-night,  and 
carry  his  darling  out  to  sea  and  dash  him  into  pieces 
on  the  rocks. 

But  how  cold  and  firm  her  hand  was.  Ah,  how 
glad  he  would  have  been  for  one  little  tremor  in  it. 

''  Bertha?  "  he  said  almost  piteously,  *'  have  you 
nothing  else  for  me  to-night." 

"  I  think  it  is  all  you  should  ask,  if  I  don't  take 
back  my  promise."  Then  she  seemed  to  be  musing 
for  an  instant.  **  I  am  sorry  you  like  me  so  much, 
what  is  there  about  me — " 

*'  How  are  the  mighty  fallen."  It  was  Mr.  Ellings- 
worth's  voice,  as  that  gentleman  sauntered  toward 
the  two  young  people. 

"  There   is  something  in  this  newspaper  I  have 


WOMAN'S  SYMPATHY.  32/ 

marked  for  you.  One  of  our  old  friends  found  his 
level  at  last— Must  you  go  this  minute.  Well,  good 
night." 

It  was  a  long  time  before  Philip  could  get  to  sleep 
that  night  in  his  great  quiet  house.  There  were  so 
many  tender  thoughts  and  memories,  now  coming 
out  in  clear  relief  in  his  brain,  now  grouped  with 
others,  and  again  lost  in  a  vague  sense  of  delight. 
He  remembered  Bertha's  attitudes  and  her  move- 
ments ;  he  imagined  how  much  more  kindly  she 
might  have  meant  than  she  had  said,  and  he  blessed 
her  that  she  had  yielded  to  his  prayers  when  he  so 
nearly  had  lost  her  forever.  But  what  could  she 
have  been  afraid  of,  how  could  Jane  EUingsworth 
harm  her  ;  what  was  there  in  her  history  worse  than 
he  knew?  Poor  little  girl,  could  there  be  anything 
more  terrible  than  what  he  had  forgiven?  Kow  far 
she  was  from  knowing  how  wonderful  a  thing  love 
can  be?  Well,  he  might  as  well  look  at  EUings- 
worth's  newspaper  now  as  any  time,  he  was  not  able 
to  sleep  apparently.  Who  could  it  be  had  found  his 
level  at  last  ?  Philip  struck  a  match  and  lit  the  gas. 
Then  he  fumbled  in  his  pockets  and  finding  the 
newspaper  at  last,  unfolded  it,  looking  for  the  marked 
paragraph.  It  was  not  in  the  editorials,  nor  in  the 
locals.  Philip  turned  the  inner  pages  out,  nor  in  the 
political  news.  It  couldn't  be  an  advertisement, 
yes — it  was  this. 


328  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Divorces  ohtaified  without  trouble  or  publicity  for 
any  cause  desired.  Address  in  strictest  confidence^ 
John  T.  Giddings,  No.  4  Errick  Square,  Lockout. 

"  The  idea,"  laughed  Philip  to  himself,  ''  of  my 
getting  up  to  read  his  card  in  another  paper.  I  hope 
I  shall  never  hear  of  him  again  now." 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

What  are    We  waiting  for  ? 

THE  bay  span  were  tossing  their  heads  impa- 
tiently at  the  gate,  and  still  the  young  bride- 
groom delayed  in  his  house.  It  was  the  evening  he 
was  to  be  married,  and  when  he  entered  the  arched 
doorway  again,  Bertha  would  be  with  him.  So  he 
must  make  one  final  tour  of  his  home,  to  see  if  there 
was  any  last  finishing  stroke  of  work  necessary  to 
make  it  worthy  of  his  beautiful  bride.  He  found  all 
his  servants,  the  new  graceful  maid  to  wait  upon  the 
door,  the  portly  butler  to  wait  upon  the  table,  and 
all ;  and  instructed  them  carefully  in  their  duties. 
The  intricate  domestic  mechanism  must  work  with 
not  one  jar  or  rattle  to  disturb  the  new  mistress. 
He  went  into  the  drawing-room  and  looked  about 
him.  The  grand  piano  that  had  been  closed  and  locked 
so  long  was  open,  and  music  placed  on  the  rack  as 
if  it  were  but  yesterday  that  Bertha  had  sat  before 
it.  He  remembered  how  her  round  white  arm  had 
out-dazzled  the  ivory  key-board,  the  last  time  he  had 
seen  her  here.  The  chintz  covers  had  been  removed 
from  the  furniture,  whose  blue  damask   upholstery 


330  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

seemed  fairly  smiling  with  delight  to  have  escaped 
from  its  mask.  In  the  embrasure  of  the  window 
looking  out  to  the  street  where  the  three  laborers 
had  stood  the  evening  our  story  commences,  lay  a 
little  volume  of  exquisite  engravings  as  if  some  ad- 
mirer had  just  put  it  dow^n.  Philip  glanced  at  the 
page  where  it  was  open.  It  was  a  Magdalene,  and  a 
shadow  passed  over  his  face  at  the  suggestion.  He 
turned  a  few  leaves,  and  spread  the  volume  open 
again,  this  time  it  was  *'  Marguerita."  Impatiently 
he  closed  the  book  which  seemed  to  have  no  beauti- 
ful picture  but  it  would  insult  his  bride.  Then  he 
went  out  and  crossed  the  broad  hall  into  the  li- 
brary. 

This  room  he  had  completely  changed  since  his 
father's  death,  and  when  his  house  became  a  home 
again  he  could  begin  to  enjoy  it.  The  modern  iron 
grate  was  taken  away,  and  a  great  old  fashioned  fire- 
place had  been  made  for  burning  logs  of  wood  in- 
stead of  little  blocks  of  coal.  The  andirons  were  two 
bronze  dragons  who  looked  deadliest  hate  at  each 
other  across  the  fireplace.  Above  the  mantel  as 
broad  as  the  chimney,  was  an  oblong  recess,  faced 
with  bronze  panels,  and  on  each  the  head  of  one  of 
the  heroes  of  literature,  in  bas-relief.  Below  each 
head  was  an  open  volume  showing  the  title-page  of 
his  greatest  work,  and  a  keen  eye  could  read  written 
in  everlasting  bronze  the  first  few  lines.     In  the  space 


WHAT  ARE   WE   WAITING  FOR  ?  33  I 

at  the  bottom  of  the  recess,  just  inside  the  mantel 
was  a  censer  of  exquisite  workmanship  in  yellow 
bronze.  The  furnishing  of  the  room  was  of  the 
strictest  simplicity,  the  floor  and  the  tables  and 
chairs  were  of  inlaid  natural  woods.  Not  one  inch 
of  upholstery  could  be  found.  On  the  walls  hung 
paintings  of  the  spots  most  famous  in  literature. 
Besides  the  books  that  filled  the  cases,  there  was  a 
great  standing  portfolio,  full  of  all  the  choicest  en- 
gravings necessary  for  a  school  of  art.  And  sculpture 
had  a  symbol  in  a  bust  of  the  first  Napoleon,  who 
seemed  mighty  enough  even  in  marble  to  make  the 
kings  of  all  Christendom  tremble  again.  Philip  felt 
satisfied  with  the  shrine  he  had  built ;  the  very  air  of 
the  place  seemed  of  finer  quality  than  outside. 

He  had  not  made  the  slightest  change  in  the 
study — his  father's  room— where  he  had  learned  too 
to  fight  out  his  spiritual  battles.  It  would  be  a  pro- 
fanation to  alter  one  feature  of  the  room  ;  it  should 
be  always  as  it  was  the  day  Ezekiel  Breton  died. 
Philip  opened  the  door  and  looked  in  for  a  moment, 
then  with  a  full  heart  he  made  his  way  up  the  oaken 
stairs.  The  room  he  next  entered  was  furnished  in 
the  shade  of  blue  that  Bertha  loved  best,  the  silk  up- 
holstered lounge  that  made  one  drowsy  to  look  at  it, 
the  sleepy-hollow  easy  chair,  the  dressing  table  and 
toilet-set.  Over  the  windows  hung  lambrequins  of  a 
darker  tint,  softened  again,  however,  in  the  flowing 


332  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

curtains  below.  Even  the  drop-lamp  had  a  blue 
porcelain  shade  so  that  no  such  thing  as  white  light 
should  ever  enter  Bertha's  boudoir.  Philip  imagined 
her  sitting  in  the  easy  chair  lifting  her  eyes  wonder- 
ingly  to  him,  her  husband,  who  never  grew  tired  of 
telling  her  she  was  beautiful  ;  or  he  pictured  her 
asleep  on  the  lounge  one  white  hand  by  her  side, 
the  other  beneath  her  cheek.  How  much  of  his 
thoughts  were  vague  dreaming?  Could  it  be  she 
was  at  last  to  be  his  ;  lighting  the  gloomy  old  house 
with  the  radiance  of  her  presence  ?  All  his  other 
life  faded  in  his  memory,  in  the  brightness  of  his  joy 
in  her.  It  seemed  a  small  thing  to  him  that  he  had 
lifted  a  thousand  lives  into  a  new  plane  of  existence — 
that  he  had  given  hope  to  a  thousand  desperate 
hearts — compared  with  the  hope  of  making  this  one 
woman  happy  and  of  living  in  her  smiles. 

But  he  suddenly  started  from  his  fond  revery, 
and  passed  into  another  room,  all  as  white  as  some 
cave  in  a  mountain  of  snow.  The  mantel  was  of 
marble,  the  curtains  cloud-like  masses  of  snowy 
lace  ;  and  even  the  upholstery  of  the  chairs,  and  the' 
carpet  was  white  damask.  His  heart  beat  fast  as  he 
stood  for  a  moment  in  the  chamber,  then  he  went 
softly  out  and  locked  the  door  behind  him,  so  that 
no  foot  should  cross  its  sacred  threshold  till  its 
mistress  came. 

It  was  to  be  a  very  quiet  wedding — no  guests,  no 


WHAT  ARE    WE   WAITING  FOR?  333 

cards,  no  banquet.  The  shortest  and  simplest  form 
that  could  make  a  man  and  woman  one  was  enough. 
But  the  hour  was  past,  and  yet  there  was  no  wed- 
ding ;  the  bride,  all  dressed,  waited  to  be  called  from 
her  room  ;  the  young  bridegroom  paced  to  and  fro 
across  the  parlor  floor.     There  was  no  minister. 

The  clock  struck  the  half  hour.  It  was  half  past 
eight.  Mr.  Ellingsworth  sat  in  the  parlor,  reading 
the  evening  paper  in  unbroken  tranquillity.  Philip 
was  wondering  where  Jane  could  be  ;  vvhether  she 
was  indeed  preparing  a  terrible  blow  for  the  white 
bosom  of  his  bride.  What  could  she  do?  it  was 
only  Bertha's  nervousness  that  made  her  afraid. 
Why,  for  his  part,  he  had  every  reason  to  be 
pleased  with  the  state  of  affairs,  for  if  Bertha  had 
not  been  frightened,  she  would  not  have  consented 
to  such  a  sudden  marriage. 

"  Ah  !  I  think  I  hear  the  carriage,"  remarked  Mr. 
Ellingsworth,  laying  aside  his  paper  with  a  little 
yawn. 

•*  From  which  direction  ?  "  asked  Philip,  listening 
eagerly,  while  the  feverish  blood  rushed  into  his  face. 

Mr.  Ellingsworth  went  to  the  window.  "  Why, 
from  both  directions.  It  sounds  to  me  like  two 
carriages.     I  will  go  out  and  see.'' 

Philip  hurried  to  the  window  and  raised  it,  but 
it  was  pitch-dark ;  he  could  see  nothing.  Who 
could  be  in  that  second  carrias^e  ?     He  waited  to  be 


334  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

called,  but  no  one  came  for  him.  He  heard  the 
doors  open  and  shut,  and  indistinguishable  voices, 
but  no  one  called  him.  Then  he  made  his  way  out 
into  the  hall,  in  vague  terror.  He  thought  of  his 
bride  waiting  up  stairs,  and  set  his  teeth  for  the 
worst.  No  earthly  power,  no  vileness  of  calumny, 
no  shameful  disclosures  should  move  him.  His 
bride  waited  for  him,  ready  to  be  his  when  he  called 
for  her.  Ah  !  he  would  not  shame  her,  though  all 
hell  hissed  at  her.  But  how  fanciful  he  was  ;  he 
could  hear  the  mild  mannered  minister  talking  in  his 
polite  tones.  He  caught  his  complacent  laugh. 
Thank  God  for  it.  Nothing  could  have  happened. 
He  walked  along  the  hall ;  the  voices  came  from  the 
dining-room  ;  there  was  the  minister's  laugh  again. 
He  pushed  open  the  door  and  went  in. 

The  minister  rose,  with  the  especial  deference  for 
wealth  that  marks  many  of  the  priests  of  God,  and 
gave  the  young  man's  hand  an  affectionate  squeeze. 
"  No  doubt  Mr.  Breton  is  ready.  It  is  the  bride- 
grooms who  should  always  be  impatient.  I  believe 
I  am  right,  am  I  not,  Mrs.  EUingsworth  ?" 

Mrs.  EUingsworth — Philip  started  violently  and 
the  color  left  his  face.  She  had  returned  in  time 
then. 

''  Not  always,''  she  smiled  strangely  and  reached 
out  her  hand  to  Philip.  It  was  but  a  woman's  hand 
small  and  velvety,  but  he  touched  it  as  if  there  were 


WHAT  ARE   WE    WAITING  FOR?  335 

a  dagger  in  its  white  palm.  He  knew  by  the  look 
of  evil  triumph  in  her  face,  that  she  had  not  been 
away  for  nothing.  Could  it  be  there  was  anything 
worse  than  he  had  forgiven  already — some  page  of 
Bertha's  life  so  black  no  depth  of  love  could  cover 
it?     A  deathly  faintness  was  upon  him. 

''  I  have  brought  tv/o  visitors,"  she  went  on  ; 
showing  the  tips  of  her  white  teeth  in  a  beautiful 
smile. 

To  be  sure,  there  sat  a  portly  woman  with  the 
slightly  elevated  chin  of  a  certain  variety  of  the  sex 
when  on  its  dignity.  But  Jane  said  ''  two  " — where 
was  the  other  ?  Ah,  the  other  was  in  the  woman's 
lap.  It  was  a  baby.  Mr.  Ellingsworth  had  a  very 
peculiar  expression  on  his  face  to-night,  as  if  his  wife 
was  disappointing  him.  It  was  rather  of  a  danger- 
ous look  if  Jane  had  understood  it.  She  was  offend- 
ing his  elegant  tastes  extremely  by  bringing  to  his 
house  a  vulgar  fussy  old  woman  and  her  baby  whom 
she,  no  doubt,  had  picked  up  on  the  railroad  cars. 
Philip  stood  nervously  fumbling  his  watch  chain,  and 
waiting  for  a  blow  to  fall  on  him,  he  did  not  know 
whence. 

It  was  a  little  baby's  hand  that  caught  at  Philip's 
arm,  and  he  turned  to  look  into  its  great  star-like 
blue  eyes.  He  had  seen  that  same  marvelous  tint  in 
cheeks  before,  and  a  cold  horror  of  recognition 
darted   through  his  soul.     He  tried  to  lift  his  spell- 


3  3  6  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

bound  eyes,  and  they  rested  instead  on  the  face  of 
Jane  Ellingsworth,  which  was  lit  up  with  a  fiendish 
exultation  as  she  held  the  child  up  to  him. 

*'  What — not  kiss  the  baby  ?  "  she  laughed  gayly, 
"  Such  a  pretty  baby,  too,  why  it  really  has  com- 
plexion and  eyes  like  Bertha's."  She  did  not  cease 
to  look  at  his  shrinking  face.  "  But  its  mouth  and 
chin — "  Something  made  him  look  at  the  baby's 
features  as  she  mentioned  them,  and  then  he  shud- 
dered ;  it  was  too  horrible,  ''  are  more  like  somebody 
else  I  know."  Her  small  flashing  black  eyes  seemed 
burning  their  way  to  his  very  brain.  "  Who  is 
it?"  She  bent  toward  him  so  that  her  hot  lips 
seemed  almost  to  kiss  his  ear.  ''  Curran "  she 
whispered.  Could  he  not  tear  himself  away  from 
her  poisonous  breath.  "  Not  so  strange  though  ?  " 
She  let  the  baby  put  its  chubby  hands  into  his  hair, 
though  she  saw  every  touch  was  a  thrust  through 
the  quivering  fibres  of  his  heart.  She  fancied  he 
did  not  understand,  he  was  so  still  and  silent. 
"  Not  so  strange  that  a  child  should  look  like  its — 
father." 

Had  the  young  bridegroom  forgotten  all  about 
his  wedding  and  the  beautiful  woman  up  stairs  won- 
dering why  she  was  not  called?  It  seemed  so,  for  he 
sat  down,  and  they  foisted  the  pretty  baby  on  him, 
and  his  face  wore  a  ghastly  smile  as  he  looked  at  it. 
Once,  at  an  expression  in  the  little  face,  he  caught  it 


WHAT  ARE   WE    WAITING  FOR  ?  33/ 

to  his  lips,  but  as  suddenly  he  thrust  the  child  into 
the  nurse's  lap,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

''  What  are  we  waiting  for?  "  His  face  was  like 
marble  for  firmness,  and  it  seemed  as  dead. 

Jane  drew  him  quickly  into  the  hall.  ''  You  are 
not  going  to  marry  the  mother  of  that — " 

"■  Hush,"  and  her  woman's  soul  quailed  at  the 
look  he  bent  on  her.  "  If  you  dare  to  whisper  a  word 
to  Bertha,  or  show  her  that  child — " 

"  I  thought  you  would  thank  me,"  whispered  the 
false  lips.  She  saw  it  was  all  in  vain — her  journey  to 
Vineboro.  She  had  followed  Bertha's  tracks  like  a 
bloodhound,  and  had  found  her  fatherless  child  in 
a  stranger's  home,  learning  to  forget  its  high-bred 
mother.  Now  surely  she  must  suffer  repulse  and 
disdain  as  the  poor  factory  girl  had  suffered  it — in  her 
very  wedding  dress.  For  the  sight  of  this  baby  face 
would  chill  the  most  ardent  love  that  ever  burned  in 
a  bridegroom's  heart. — But  no.  This  man's  love  was 
deeper  than  the  sentiment  and  vanity  that  commonly 
makes  the  chief  part  of  what  is  absurdly  called  pas- 
sion. His  faith  was  so  sublime,  shame  was  ashamed 
before  it. 

His  face  had  lighted  up  at  her  words.  ''  Oh  I 
will  thank  you  a  thou — a  thousand  times  if  you  will 
send  that  woman  and  the  child  away." 

He  had  taken  her  hands.  "  Jane,  for  God's  sake 
do  it." 

22 


338  THE  BRE  TON  MIL  L  S. 

He  would  have  given  her  a  fortune,  but  she  had 
sold  herself  once,  and  her  price  was  enough.  He 
could  only  pray  to  her  in  all  the  phrases  of  entreaty 
the  agonies  of  life  have  taught  mankind. 

"  They  shall  leave  the  house  at  once,"  she  said 
at  last  as  she  turned  to  go  back  into  the  room.  He 
thought  his  prayers  had  moved  her.  But  she  knew 
her  plot  had  failed  ;  she  had  wrung  his  heart  but  his 
will  was  unmoved.  She  made  a  virtue  of  her  neces- 
sity. Philip  would  be  grateful  to  her  forever,  but 
there  would  be  something  else,  perhaps.  Such  hate 
as  hers  could  not  be  turned  aside  by  so  feeble  a 
thing  as  pity. 

"  How  pale  you  are,  Philip.  Are  you  afraid?" 
and  Bertha  smiled  royally  on  him  as  she  took  his 
arm,  and  they  passed  up  the  hall. 

"  I  am  the  happiest  man  in  the  world,"  and  he 
tried  to  smile  as  his  hand  closed  over  her  fingers  like 
an  iron  vise,  it  was  so  cold  and  strong. 

But  how  sad  he  was,  as  if  an  exquisite  piece  of 
sculpture  that  he  loved  had  fallen  from  a  great 
height  and  been  shivered  into  a  thousand  frag- 
ments. The  hope  and  joy  of  his  life  seemed  slipping 
away  from  him.  That  little  child's  face  hung  between 
him  and  the  bride  who  was  promising  to  be  faithful — 
if  she  only  had  been  faithful  to  him ;  its  baby  hands 
seemed  to  shield  her  bosom  from  him,  its  quavering 
cries  to  reproach  him  for  daring  to  kiss  its  mother. 


WHA  T  ARE   WE   WAITING  FOR  ?  339 

So  small  and  sweet  a  baby,  but  its  face  seemed 
threatening  him,  its  infant  form  linked  indissolubly 
a  past  he  had  hoped  he  might  forget  with  a  present 
and  future  he  had  foolishly  thought  had  a  great  store 
of  happiness  for  him. 

The  minister  had  taken  his  seat.  Was  he  really 
married  to  the  golden-haired  woman  whose  hand  he 
held  so  tightly?  Was  this  the  moment  he  had 
dreamed  of  as  marking  his  entrance  into  a  new  ideal 
life?  Had  he  said  everything  correctly?  He  could 
not  remember,  but  he  did  not  want  any  mistake 
made  about  this  at  least.  Oh  yes,  it  was  now  he 
was  to  kiss  his  wife.  He  held  her  to  his  heart  an 
instant.  This  was  his  wife,  but  joy  was  dead  behind 
his  dry,  feverish  lips,  and  his  smile,  meant  to  cheer 
her,  was  as  if  some  terrible  pain  was  gnawing  every 
moment  at  his  heart.  But  Bertha  appeared  to  notice 
nothing  wrong. 

The  train  which  bore  away  the  bridal  pair  had  not 
traveled  a  great  many  miles,  when  something  caused 
Philip  to  look  in  the  seat  behind  them.  There  sat 
the  portly  woman  with  her  chin  at  last  depressed  in 
slumber,  and  the  baby  with  Bertha's  eyes  and  Cur- 
ran's  mouth.  One  of  Bertha's  coils  of  hair  had  be- 
come loosened,  and  a  braid  of  golden  hair  hung  over 
the  back  of  the  seat  as  she  let  her  head  rest  on  her 
husband's  shoulder.  Bertha's  eyes  were  closed 
drowsily,  the  nurse  in  the  seat  behind  nodded  in  her 


340  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

dreams,  but  the  child  reached  out  its  baby  hands  to 
play  with  its  mother's  golden  tresses.  The  young 
husband  watched  the  child's  lips  forming  again  and 
again  one  word,  ''  mamma,"  the  wife  fell  asleep  and 
dreamed  she  was  the  happiest  woman  in  the  world, 
while  beneath  her  head  every  throb  of  the  man's 
heart  was  an  ache. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

One  Short  Hour. 

IT  was  a  week  later  that  the  Breton  barouche 
came  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  toward  Mr.  Ell- 
ingsworth's  house.  The  bay  span  never  stepped  so 
proudly,  and  certainly  the  gold-plated  trimmings  on 
their  harness  never  glittered  so  brightly  before.  As 
the  carriage  had  passed  through  the  lower  village 
the  factory  girls  had  all  rushed  to  the  windows  to 
see  the  master  and  his  bride,  and  for  the  moment  the 
laborers  on  the  foundations  of  the  new  mill  stopped 
their  work  in  one  accord,  and  were  all  eyes  till  the 
bridal  couple  were  out-  of  sight.  Philip's  face  was 
fairly  radiant  with  hope  and  love,  and  he  could  not 
teach  his  eyes  to  look  anywhere  but  at  Bertha. 
She  glanced  idly  on  cither  side,  at  the  white-gloved 
coachman  on  his  high  seat,  or  at  the  prancing 
horses,  anywhere  but  into  the  earnest  tender  face, 
which  might  have  been  a  constant  reproach  to  her 
calm  indifference. 

Clearly  enough,  the  clouds  that  had  settled  so 
gloomily  about  his  wedding  night  had  lifted  ;  his  love 
and  the  sweet  reality  of  his  present  life  and  his  new 


342  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

sense  of  duty  toward  the  woman  who  now  called 
him  husband,  all  helped  him  to  put  away  her  past, 
even  to  its  most  terrible  incident,  and  his  healthful 
mental  nature  was  rapidly  building  up  a  new  life 
which  should  have  no  taint  in  it.  Philip  Breton 
made  a  noble  lover.  Perhaps  it  was  because  he  was 
not  a  great  man.  He  was  not  so  wise  but  that  he 
believed  in  the  reality  of  the  sunbeam.s  poets  make 
their  love  songs  of.  He  had  many  holy  aspirations, 
he  caught  now  and  then  glimpses  of  ideal  beauty 
and  truth.  In  some  vague  way  he  fancied  all  these 
were  realized  in  Bertha.  In  her  he  loved  all  the 
harmonies.  In  her  he  worshipped  purity  and  charity 
and  all  the  graces. 

As  for  Bertha,  she  continually  found  new  sur- 
prises in  his  gentleness  and  in  his  devotion — surprises 
partly  because  she  forgot  them  each  time.  She 
really  wished  he  were  not  so  devoted.  She  wished 
he  did  not  make  her  feel  as  if  she  were  forever  pos- 
ing in  tableaux.  She  thought  him  inclined  to  be 
foolish,  because  he  did  not  seem  keen-eyed  enough 
to  see  her  most  obvious  faults,  not  magnanimous 
enough  herself  to  understand  that  he  looked  at  her 
through  a  halo  of  glory  his  love  had  put  about  her. 
In  spite  of  herself  he  could  see  something  beautiful 
and  good  in  everything  she  could  do  or  say. 

''  We  are  just  passing  my  home,"  she  said  a  little 
petulantly,  ''  can't  you  see  anything  but  me?" 


ONE  SHORT  HOUR.  343 

''  This  is  not  your  home  now,  my  dear.''  He  cor- 
rected her  very  gently.  As  he  glanced  into  the  win- 
dows of  the  parlor  where  they  had  been  married, 
Jane  Ellingsworth's  dark  face  looked  out  at  them, 
cruel  and  malevolent.  Philip  started  forward  in  his 
seat.  Why,  no,  he  must  have  been  wrong,  the  face 
in  the  window  was  wreathed  in  the  most  charming 
smiles.  She  even  kissed  her  fingers  to  the  bridal 
pair  and  let  a  sheet  of  paper  she  had  been  holding 
flutter  to  the  floor  in  her  child-like  enthusiasm. 
Bertha  nodded  coldly,  Philip  lifted  his  silk  hat,  and 
the  carriage  passed  on  out  of  sight. 

Philip  was  too  wise  to  weary  his  wife  just  now 
by  showing  her  all  the  changes  in  his  home,  which 
would  delight  her  so  much,  later.  He  knew  by  her 
drooping  step,  as  she  walked  along  the  hall,  that  she 
was  tired  and  would  appreciate  rest  above  all 
things.  So  he  took  her  first  to  her  own  little  sitting 
room,  which  he  called  her  boudoir.  He  had  rather 
expected  a  little  lighting  up  of  her  eyes,  perhaps 
some  pretty  exclamation  of  pleasure.  Possibly  he 
had  made  an  absurd  artistic  blunder.  Could  it  be 
he  had  got  the  wrong  shade  of  blue  after  all?  She 
only  threw  off  her  bonnet  and  sat  down  in  the  least 
inviting  of  the  chairs  without  seeming  to  care  to 
look  about  her  at  all. 

''  You  must  be  tired,  Bertha,"  said  Philip  at  last, 
trying  to   hide  the  disappointment   that   made   his 


344  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

heart  swell  so  oddly.  ''  Won't  you  sit  in  the  easy 
chair  ?  I  am  sure  you  will  like  it,  though  perhaps 
you  would  rather  lie  down." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  not  tired,"  she  said  carelessly, 
without  turning  her  eyes  to  look  at  him  where  he 
stood,  restlessly  playing  with  the  window  curtains. 
He  pulled  roughly  at  them,  he  longed  that  moment 
to  ruin  the  beauty. that  had  failed  to  please  her. 
He  could  not  see  where  the  fault  was  ;  the  carpet 
was  as  thick  and  soft  as  a  bed  of  violets,  the  light 
seemed  delicate  almost  as  some  perfume,  but  Bertha 
did  not  seem  to  care  for  anything  he  had  devised  for 
her.  He  bit  his  lip  to  keep  down  the  inner  pain. 
She  was  going  to  speak ;  if  she  would  only  criticise, 
he  would  change  everything  again  to  win  a  smile  of 
approval  from  her.  She  might  at  least  understand 
how  much  he  had  tried  to  please  her. 

"  Where  does  that  door  open  ?" 

^'  I  will  show  you  if  you  are  not  tired,"  yet  he 
dreaded  to  take  her  into  that  room,  and  see  her  as 
cold  and  indifferent  as  she  was  now.  He  felt  it 
would  break  his  heart. 

She  rose  to  her  feet,  and  looked  in  curiosity  at 
him  as  he  took  a  key  from  his  breast  pocket,  and 
turned  it  in  the  lock.  ''  Is  it  your  treasure 
chamber?" 

"Yes,"  he  whispered,  and  threw  open  the  door, 
and  stood  back  for  her  to  enter.     The  room  seemed 


ONE  SHO R  T  HO  UR.  345 

as  pure  and  white  as  if  a  thousand  angels  brooded 
over  it  with  their  snowy  wings.  Peace  and  holy 
rapture  seemed  breathing  from  the  very  walls,  and 
the  young  bride  felt  a  new  timidity  steal  over  her 
heart.  She  was  awed  indescribably  in  the  temple 
of  love  he  had  made  for  her.  Poor  soul  !  would 
there  be  but  one  true  worshiper?  "  Comie,"  she 
said,  and  she  smiled  more  sweetly  than  he  had  ever 
seen  her.  She  held  her  hand  out  toward  him,  as  he 
lingered  on  the  threshold. 

He  came  and  took  her  hand,  and  then  put  his 
arm  about  her  as  she  stood  in  exquisite  pensiveness, 
struggling  to  take  in  the  meaning  of  the  place. 
She  had  cast  her  eyes  down  on  the  carpet,  which 
seemed  like  the  driven  snow,  sparkling  with  hail- 
drops.  The  solemn  beauty  of  her  chamber  subdued 
her  like  a  child. 

"You  would  not  dare  to  kiss  me  here,  Philip," 
she  said  at  last  in  a  voice  so  gentle  and  thrilling,  it 
seemed  to  his  throbbing  heart  as  if  a  new  soul  had 
been  born  within  her.     "  It  is  so  pure  and — " 

But  he  drew  her  unresisting  form  into  his  arms, 
and  kissed  her  full  cool  lips  again  and  again,  and  she 
did  not  stir  on  his  shoulder,  but  her  great  blue  eyes 
looked  a  startled  reproach  at  his  ardor. 

*'  There  is  no  place  too  pure  for  the  kisses  I  have 
for  you." 

There  will  never  be  an  hour  in  Philip  Breton's 


34^  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

after  life,  when  he  shall  not  look  back  to  this  mo- 
ment, as  worth  all  the  agony,  as  the  acme  of  his  be- 
ing— when  the  cup  of  his  "happiness  was  full.  And 
who  should  overturn  it  ?  Why  should  he  not  hold  it  to 
his  ever  thirsty  lips  forever,  the  well-spring  of  his  love 
bubbling  and  sparkling  forever  within  ?  Might  not 
the  world  stand  still  awhile  ?  Must  it  jostle  him  from 
his  unwearying  rapture,  and  push  him  on  and  on 
into  the  barren  desert  of  failure  which  awaits  all 
mankind  at  last  ? 

The  dinner  bell  tinkled  invitingly,  and  the  mas- 
ter and  mistress  of  the  house  came  down  together. 
At  the  door  of  the  dining-room  stood  the  man 
servant,  salver  in  hand,  and  the  silk  skirts  of  the 
lady  of  the  house  swept  against  him  as  she  passed 
in.  Philip  frowned  fiercely  at  him,  for  the  usually 
most  well  behaved  and  respectful  waiter  seemed  to 
forget  all  his  duties  in  staring  with  brazen  impudence 
in  the  beautiful  face  of  his  master's  wife.  Philip 
grew  pale  with  anger,  but  Bertha  only  gave  a  glance 
of  lofty  contempt  at  the  fellow's  smooth  face  and 
wdiite  apron. 

"  Your  servants  are  not  well  behaved,  my  dear 
Philip." 

In  a  moment  more  they  were  alone,  and  Philip 
forgot  his  wTath  in  the  new  picture  of  his  wife  across 
his  table.  His  old  lonely  days  were  ended,  no  more 
solitary  feastings.     Bertha  was   always  to  brighten 


ONE  SHORT  HOUR  ZA7 

his  house  and  his  table  for  him.  The  satyr  or  bronze 
on  the  mantel  that  had  scowled  on  his  desolation, 
seemed  actually  smiling  now.  The  portraits  around 
the  green  tinted  walls  had  seemed  to  his  imagina- 
tion, as  he  had  sat  down  so  many  times  to  his  richly 
furnished  table,  like  guests  at  a  funeral,  or  again,  as 
if  morosely  curious  how  a  man  could  violate  all  the 
principles  of  hospitality  by  dining  alone.  Now,  he 
fancied  they  had  taken  on  a  more  genial,  compan- 
ionable expression.  To  be  sure  the  sun  poured  in 
through  the  open  blinds  in  unusual  brightness,  but 
it  was  the  light  in  Bertha's  blue  eyes  that  changed 
everything  for  him.  It  was  the  beginning  of  his  own 
home  ;  this  woman  who  seemed  too  lovely  to  be 
other  than  a  caller  for  an  hour,  had  come  to  stay, 
to  sit  with  him  as  she  did  now,  whenever  he  break- 
fasted or  dined  or  supped — always.  The  world 
might  heap  wrongs  and  outrage  on  him,  his  facto- 
ries burn  and  his  wealth  dissolve — she  whose  pres- 
ence in  itself  was  a  perfect  existence  to  him,  had 
come  to  him  to  stay  forever. 

Bertha's  face  was  bent  over  the  table  studying 
the  odd  device  on  her  napkin  ring.  The  sunlight 
flickered  in  her  golden  hair  as  tenderly  as  if  it  were 
giving  her  kisses  of  welcome.  So  she  would  sit 
before  him  always.  But  the  sudden  creaking  of  a 
man's  boot  made  him  look  up.  The  waiter  had 
come  in  almost  noiselessly  and   stood  at   the  side- 


348  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

board  carving  a  bird  for  their  second  course.  Philip 
was  glad  he  had  not  said  one  of  the  hundred  caress- 
ing words  that  had  come  to  his  lips,  he  remembered 
the  look  on  the  fellow's  face  at  the  door.  But  how 
slow  he  was  at  his  carving  ;  was  the  canvas-back  so 
tough,  then? 

Ugh — there  was  a  glass  in  the  side-board,  and 
Philip  happened  to  glance  into  it.  The  man  held 
the  knife  and  fork  in  his  hands,  but  he  was  not  carv- 
ing at  all,  but  was  still  staring  at  Bertha's  bent  beau- 
tiful face  in  the  mirror,  with  his  evil  swine-like  eyes. 
He  seemed  to  be  studying  her  features  as  if  to  recall 
some  association — oh,  he  had  succeeded,  a  hideous 
grin  distorted  his  mouth,  and  whole  face,  when  Philip 
rose  and  pushed  back  his  chair.  His  servant  recog- 
nized her,  apparently  she  had  played  some  very  in- 
harmonious part  in  some  previous  scene  he  had  wit- 
nessed. And  he  was  but  one  of  the  world  she  had 
disgraced  herself  before.  What  could  his  evil  eyes 
have  seen — which  miserable  page  in  this  lovely 
woman's  history,  that  her  husband  was  trying  to  blot 
out  of  memory?  If  he  could  forgive  her,  might  not 
the  rest  ?  Must  she  be  subject  to  insult  in  her  own 
home?  Was  he  not  powerful  enough  to  protect  her 
against  the  shame  of  such  looks  as  this  fellow  gave 
her? 

He  had  stepped  to  the  side-board  and  touched 
his  servant  on  the  shoulder,  and  beckoned   him  to 


ONE  SHORT  HOUR.  349 

the  door.  The  malicious  grin  had  hardly  time  to 
vanish  from  the  frightened  face. 

''  Go  !  "  the  words  came  hissing  from  his  master's 
lips, ''  and  if  I  ever  see  your  face  again,  or  if  you  ever 
breathe  a  word  against  the  woman  I  have  made  my 
wife — "  The  man  slunk  up  stairs  like  a  whipped 
dog. 

"  Why,  I  didn't  notice  you  had  been  out,"  said 
Bertha  in  mild  surprise  as  Philip  re-entered  the  din- 
ing-room, ^' were  you  ill?  how  pale  you  are." 

But  she  did  not  rise  in  her  solicitude  and  come  to 
him.  Instead,  he  came  to  her,  and  bent  very  gently 
over  her,  and  tried  to  kiss  away  the  lines  of  care  on 
her  white  forehead,  which  he  had  never  caused. 
He  did  his  best  to  smile  gayly,  and  succeeded  well 
enough  to  deceive  her. 

"  I  will  be  your  servant  to-day,"  he  said,  ''  with 
no  profane  eyes  to  look  on." 

Then  he  shook  off  his  unhappiness  by  sheer  force 
of  will,  and  began  to  talk  lover's  nonsense  to  the  cold 
mistress  of  his  home,  in  more  perfect  abandon  than 
ever,  even  in  the  exuberance  of  his  youth.  He 
must  be  happy  while  he  could,  he  dared  not  stop 
talking,  lest  he  should  think  too  much.  But  she 
only  looked  at  him  in  far  off  surprise,  with  now  and 
then  a  curious,  not  quite  pleased  smile,  at  his  absur- 
dities.    At  last,  all  too  soon,  she  arose. 

''  I  must  go   and  dress,  and  try  and  look  a  little 


3  5  O  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

prettier,  for  to-day  at  least.''  She  touched  his 
shoulder  kindly  as  she  passed  out  into  the  hall,  leav- 
ing him  sitting  still  at  table. 

It  was  only  then  that  he  discovered  a  letter  that 
had  been  concealed  by  a  plate.  But  what  did  he 
care  for  business  to-day  ?  Still  it  might  serve  to  pass 
a  little  of  the  time,  till  his  wife  should  return.  How 
the  thought  of  her  warmed  his  heart.  In  a  few  mo- 
ments the  door  behind  him  would  open,  and  he 
would  turn  to  see  her  graceful  form  on  the  thresh- 
old. She  would  be  dressed  in  some  new  color,  or 
perhaps  in  black  that  gave  her  the  air  of  a  de- 
throned queen.  By  this  time  she  must  have  thought 
of  some  kind  thing  to  say  to  him,  but  first  it 
would  be, 

"  Sitting  at  table  yet  ?  "  Then  he  would  rise  and 
draw  her  jeweled  hand  through  his  arm  and  show  her 
throusfh  her  whole  home.  She  would  be  so  delisrhted 
with  the  library  ;  he  was  sure  everything  there  would 
please  her  exquisite  taste.  He  had  never  enjoyed  the 
room,  though  it  was  so  perfect ;  there  had  been  some- 
thing dreary  to  him  in  its  classic  simplicity.  But 
now  everything  would  be  changed.  Then  he  would 
lead  her  to  the  drawing-room,  and  would  make  her 
sit  down  again  before  the  long-silent  piano,  which 
had  given  out  not  one  tone  of  music  since  her  white 
fingers  had  last  caressed  its  glistening  keys.  And 
she  would  play  and  sing  for  him  while  he  dreamed 


ONE  SHOR  T  HOUR.  351 

of  the  new  rare  life  of  beauty  and  peace  that  was  to 
be  his  henceforth. 

He  glanced  at  the  face  of  the  envelope  ;  but  it 
was  not  for  a  moment  more,  that  the  mist  of  joy- 
cleared  from  before  his  eyes  enough  to  read  the 
words  stamped  on  its  upper  corner. 

"  John  T.  Giddings,  Attorney  at  Law,"  and  be- 
neath in  smaller  type,  "  Divorces  procured  without 
trouble  or  publicity  for  any  cause  desired."  What 
was  he  or  his  business  to  Philip  Breton  ?  He  tore 
open  the  envelope  impatiently  ;  probably  a  begging 
letter.  He  unfolded  the  sheet  he  found  within.  At 
the  top  in  big  letters  the  attorney's  name  and  ad- 
dress ;  and  below  the  advertisement  about  divorces 
again.  Philip  frowned  and  began  to  read  what  the 
man  had  written  to  him. 

"  Dear  Sir  : — I  understand  you  will  have  just 
returned  from  your  wedding  journey  when  this 
reaches  you.  I  am  sorry  to  interrupt  your  bliss  but 
it  will  be  very  important  for  you  to  call  upon  me 
immediately  upon  your  receipt  of  this  communi- 
cation. You  may  wonder  how  my  advertisement 
about  Divorces  which  your  observant  eyes  will  have 
detected  at  the  top  of  this  page  can  concern  you. 
If  you  call  on  me  at  once  I  will  be  able  to  explain 
that  and  several  other  points  of  interest  to  you. 
^Very  truly  yours, 

John  T.  Giddings. 


352  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Philip  spread  the  letter  open  on  the  table  cloth 
before  him,  and  read  it  again  and  more  carefully. 
He  seemed  very  slow  to  take  its  meaning.  Then  he 
folded  it  very  accurately  and  put  it  in  his  pocket- 
book.  He  rose  to  his  feet  and  rang  the  bell  for  the 
maid.  How  cool  he  was ;  he  showed  no  sign  of 
having  received  a  terrible  blow,  unless  it  was  by 
passing  his  hand  wearily  across  his  forehead  once  or 
twice. 

The  clearest  feeling  he  was  conscious  of  was  a 
nervous  anxiety  lest  Bertha  should  come  in  upon 
him  just  now  ;  and  when  the  door  opened  he  started 
violently.  But  it  was  only  the  maid  who  had  an- 
swered his  summons. 

"  Tell  your  mistress,"  his  voice  was  very  low  but 
it  sounded  firm  enough,  "  tell  your  mistress  I  am 
called  away  to  Lockout.  I  shall  be  back  by  tea 
time,  at  six,  I  suppose.  Can  you  find  my  hat  for 
me,  Jane,  I  mean  Annie.  Thank  you."  He  pulled 
it  well  over  his  eyes,  and  walked  along  the  hall  and 
opened  the  door.  He  did  not  like  to  glance  up  the 
oaken  staircase,  for  fear  he  might  see  Bertha.  He 
dreaded  to  look  in  her  face  just  now.  The  maid 
stood  waiting. 

"  Tell  your  mistress  that  I  am  called — oh,  I  told 
you,  did  I  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

A  Lecral  Distinctioji, 


"-a' 


**  A  H,  Mr.  Breton,  yes,  yes,  I  was  sure  you  would 
^L\.  come." 

The  lawyer  pulled  two  chairs  together  near  his 
office  table.  John  T.  Giddings  had  changed  a  great 
deal  since  the  time  when  he  undertook  to  engineer 
the  corporation  scheme.  Apparently  he  was  going 
down  hill  very  fast,  without  brakes.  His  eyes  wore 
a  glassy  look,  as  if  he  had  just  waked  from  a  drunken 
sleep,  the  smooth  roundness  of  his  cheeks  was  gone, 
his  lower  jaw  was  strongly  marked,  and  his  nose 
seemed  drawn  out  and  sharpened  to  give  the  effect 
of  a  bird  of  prey.  Philip  glanced  significantly  about 
the  room.    The  lawyer  followed  his  eyes  and  laughed. 

''  Changed  some  aren't  we — all,  lack  of  money. 
Actually,  you  have  no  idea  how  ten  dollars  even 
would  furbish  up  this  old  table  and  polish  this  floor. 
Times  aint  as  they  were,  Mr.  Breton,  in  the  old  days 
when  I  used  to  get  fat  fees  out  of  men  like  your 
father.  Nice  man,  your  father.  But,"  and  he  leered 
meaningly  at  his  visitor,  ''  when  we  do  get  a  chance 
for  a  dollar  I  tell  you   we  jump  at   it."     He  tipped 


354  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

back  his  chair  against  his  half-filled  book  shelves  and 
peered  familiarly  into  Philip's  stern  face.  "  Why- 
look  at  those  dirty  fellows  back  by  the  door.  Time 
was  I  wouldn't  notice  a  client  unless  he  wore  white 
collar  and  cuffs.  But  now  for  business.  I  suppose 
you  were  a  little  astonished  to  get  my  letter?" 

'*  I  should  prefer  not  to  have  listeners,"  remarked 
Philip,  coldly. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  will  finish  with  these  fellows  first, 
then.     I  thought  you  might  be  impatient." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir." 

The  lawyer's  clothes  were  threadbare  and  soiled, 
and  the  black  felt  hat  that  he  wore,  indoors  and  out, 
well  slouched  over  his  eyes,  was  torn  in  the  crown. 
Philip  compared  him  w^ith  his  shabby-looking  callers, 
and  could  not  see  but  the  clients  looked  as  well  as 
their  patron.  But  at  every  sign  of  poverty  and  degra- 
dation his  heart  sank  lower  and  lower,  for  the  man 
must  be  reckless  and  hungry  as  a  man-eating  shark. 
If  it  lay  in  his  power  to  rack  the  life  out  of  a  victim 
— the  man  could  have  no  restraint  of  character  or 
decency  to  hold  back  his  hand.  Could  there  be  any- 
thing he  knew  about  Bertha's  past,  that  terrible  gap 
Philip  had  not  tried  to  look  into?  He  dared  not 
think.  Impatient !  he  dreaded  the  moment  when 
the  lawyer  should  send  away  his  soiled  clients. 
Philip  started  each  time  he  half  turned,  as  if  to 
come    back.     But  when   Giddings   closed  the  door 


A  LEGAL   DISTINCTLON.  355 

after  the  poor  wretches,  which  was  not  until  a  Httle 
roll  of  bills  had  passed  from  their  hands  to  his,  and 
came  back  to  his  seat,  the  young  mill-owner  did  not 
seem  to  observe  him  till  the  lawyer  said, 

"  I  have  filled  out  a  complaint  but  have  not 
signed  it  yet." 

Philip  looked  at  him  blankly.  *'  What  is  a  com- 
plaint ?  " 

*'  Well,  my  dear  sir,  a  man  of  your  position  might 
pass  a  lifetime  and  never  know,  ahem.  It  is  a  form 
of  procedure  that  is  generally  understood  to  be  ap- 
plicable only  to  the  poor.  When  a  wretch  has  com- 
mitted a  burglary,  for  instance,  some  friend  of  justice, 
as  I  for  example,  goes  before  a  magistrate  and  makes 
certain  charges.  Then  the  poor  devil  is  arrested, 
dragged  before  the  court  and  tried." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  are  your  complaints  to  me?  " 

The  lawyer  smiled.  ''  Strictly,  nothing,  unless 
you  identify  yourself  with  a  woman  calling  herself 
Bertha  Breton.''  He  paused  to  notice  the  effect  of 
his  words. 

"  My  wife,"  gasped  Philip,  "  oh,  for  God's  sake, 
speak  quick." 

''  You  have  been  lately  married?  " 

'*  A  week  ago." 

"  The  woman  you  have  married  has  a  husband 
already.  By  remarrying  as  she  has  done  she  has 
committed  a  felony  by  our  laws.     Some  rather  inac- 


3  5  6  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

curately  call  her  crime  bigamy.  A  states  prison 
offence  I  suppose  you  know — I  mean  for  her.  The 
law  of  our  state  does  not  touch  you." 

"But  she  told  me  she  was  free  to  marry."  How 
far  off  his  voice  sounded.  Was  it  he,  indeed,  in  a 
low  attorney's  office,  discussing  his  wife  whether  she 
were  a  felon  or  no.  It  was  like  a  horrible  dream,  too 
horrible  to  be  anything  but  a  dream,  but  he  could  not 
awake  from  it. 

"  No  doubt  she  thought  so,"  said  the  lawyer 
charitably,  "  but  let  me  show  you."  He  opened  a 
drawer  in  front  of  him,  and  took  out  along  paper. 
'■''  Isn't  it  odd,  wom.en  have  no  notion  of  folding  a 
legal  document  correctly.     Did  you  ever  notice  it  ?  " 

*'  No,  I  never  noticed  it,"  answered  Philip  me- 
chanically. He  felt  as  if  he  were  standing  still,  and 
the  world  was  flying  from  under  his  feet. 

"This  is  the  marriage  certificate.  It  is  proper  in 
form,  you  will  see." 

Yes,  it  seemed  correct.  Bertha's  name  was  there, 
and  Curran's ;  they  seemed  to  leap  out  of  the  parch- 
ment as  he  read.  And  there  were  two  witnesses. 
He  rubbed  his  eyes,  ''Thomas  Bailes  " — that  was  the 
name  of  the  servant  he  had  turned  away.  Yes,  it 
was  not  an  hour  ago  he  turned  him  away. 

"Who  is  this  Thomas  Bailes?" 

"  He  was  a  waiter  at  the  '  Lockout  House,*  where 
the  happy  couple  were  made  one." 


'A  LEGAL  DISTINCTION.  357 

The  paper  fluttered  to  the  floor,  the  walls  of  the 
room  seemed  rushing  in  upon  him,  while  the  grin- 
ning face  of  the  lawyer  danced  in  hideous  measure 
before  his  eyes.  Was  God,  in  his  mercy,  sending  him 
death?  When  his  brain  cleared  again  the  man  was 
talking  still. 

''  You  will  wonder  how  I  happen  to  possess  this 
paper,  but  you  will  recollect  my  advertisement  at  the 
top  of  my  letter  head?  Well  it  seemed  Mrs.  Cur- 
ran,  excuse  me,  grew  tired  of  her  uncongenial  hus- 
band, quite  outside  her  sphere  of  course.  A  fine  feU 
low  that  Curran  was  too.  But  the  young  lady 
naturally  sighed  for  her  old  more  refined  associa- 
tions. Her  husband  does  nothing  but  shock  her. 
She  becomes  wretched,  her  craze  is  over,  the  reality 
is  not  to  her  delicate  taste  at  all.  What  next  ?  She 
leaves  him,  fortune  throws  my  advertisement  in  her 
way  and  1  receive  a  letter  from  her  address,  then  at 
Vineboro.  Here  was  a  short  way  out  of  it  all,  a 
divorce  without  trouble  or  publicity,  for  any  cause 
desired.  She  would  be  free  as  air  again,  free  to  end 
her  life,  as  she  no  doubt  intended,  in  conventual  re- 
tirement." 

Giddings  threw  his  feet  upon  the  table,  and  smiled 
very  slyly.  "  I  undertook  her  suit.  What  better 
cause  could  there  be  than  incompatibility.  Oh,  no, 
she  need  not  come  to  Lockout,  so  there  was  no 
trouble,  and  as   to  publicity,  why,  will  you  beHeve 


358  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

it — "  and  the  lawyer  winked  horribly  at  his  visitor, 
"  Curran  himself  was  within  twenty  miles  of  Lock- 
out during  the  pendency  of  the  suit,  and  he  never 
guessed  his  wife  was  being  divorced  from  him,  and  I 
don't  believe  he  knows  it  to  this  day,  ha,  ha."  And 
he  laid  his  head  back  on  his  chair  and  laughed  till 
the  tears  ran  down  his  face. 

''  But  you  procured  her  a  divorce."  It  is  almost 
worth  pain  to  have  the  exquisite  delight  that  comes 
with  relief. 

Philip  felt  ashamed  that  he  had  distrusted  God  so 
much.  How  much  more  joyfully  he  could  cherish  his 
wife  than  before.  There  was  no  blot  of  shame  on  her 
sweet  name  ;  there  was  no  page  in  her  life  the  whole 
w^orld  might  not  look  at  then.  And  this  man  wanted 
a  reward  for  what  he  had  done,  aye,  and  he  should 
have  it.  There  was  no  gift  too  great  for  him,  who 
had  turned  this  young  husband's  bitterest  memories 
sweet,  who  had  made  his  life  and  his  love  like  that 
of  other  men.  He  reached  forward,  and  grasped  the 
lawyer's  oily  hand  in  hearty  good  will. 

Gidding's  stared  at  him  in  silence  a  moment. 
Then  he  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair  and  released 
his  hand, 

**  I  guess  you  don't  understand,"  he  had  enough 
of  his  manhood  left  to  hesitate,  it  was  actually  a 
more  disagreeable  business  than  he  had  counted  on. 
"  Such   secret  convenient  divorces  as   I    get,  don't 


A  LEGAL   DLSTINCTLON.  359 

stand  in  our  courts.  The  whole  thing  is  bogus,  my 
dear  sir."  Philip's  face  had  become  hke  a  dead  man's. 
"  Issued  by  the  Supreme  Juridical  court  of  Utah — 
it  says  on  them,  but  there  is  no  such  court,  and  as  for 
the  seal  I  keep  in  this  little  drawer.  Besides,  if  there 
were  such  a  court,  and  its  genuine  seal  were  stamped 
on  a  decree  of  divorce,  it  would  amount  to  nothing 
when  both  parties  live  in  this  state.  Our  state 
makes  its  own  decrees.  Utah  decrees,  or  the  decrees 
of  any  foreign  state  or  territory  are  void  here.  Your 
wife  is  Curran's  wife  yet  ;  she  is  as  much  married  to 
him  to-day,  as  she  has  been  at  all." 

*'  How  am  I  to  know  but  what  you  are  lying  to 
me?" 

The  attorney  handed  him  over  a  file  of  letters 
with  a  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  "You  need  not  wade 
through  them  all,  the  last  is  conclusive,  I  think  you 
will  agree  with  me." 

"  Mr.  Giddings  : — Dear  Sir  : — I  received  this 
morning,  the  divorce  from  the  Supreme  Juridical 
Court  of  Utah,  and  you  will  find  enclosed  a  draft  for 
the  second  half  of  the  three  hundred  dollars  agreed 
upon.  Of  course  I  have  to  rely  wholly  on  your  as- 
surance that  my  divorce  is  complete,  and  that  I  have 
a  right  to  resume  my  maiden  name.  I  thank  you 
for  the  quiet  way  in  which  you  have  managed  it.  I 
did  not  suppose  it  could  be  done  so  easily.  I  only 
wonder    Mr.    Curran   has    taken    it    so   calmly,    he 


360  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

seemed  almost  wild   when   I  first  left  him.     Yours 
gratefully,  Bertha  Ellingsworth." 

Yes,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  It  was  Ber- 
tha's handwriting  ;  no  forgery  could  have  deceived 
her  lover's  eyes.  How  little  she  fancied  he  would 
ever  be  reading  it  over,  and  cursing  the  first  hour  he 
had  ever  looked  on  her  dear  face.  He  watched  the 
attorney  put  it  back  on  file  again.  It  seemed  a  des- 
ecration to  lay  one  of  her  notes  in  the  stained,  tin 
box,  with  the  ignoble  company  of  lying  and  suppli- 
ant letters. 

"  She  seems  to  have  relied  completely  on  some 
assurance  of  yours,  that  her  divorce  would  be  good." 
Philip  tried  to  speak  calmly  to  this  man,  who  held 
his  darling's  fate  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand,  but  his 
voice  trembled,  and  almost  broke. 

"You  are  not  well,"  exclaimed  the  lawyer,  and 
he  opened  another  drawer  in  his  desk,  and  drew  out 
a  square  shaped,  yellow  covered  bottle.  "  Take  a 
swallow  of  this." 

Philip  clutched  at  it  eagerly.  He  thought  now  he 
could  understand  how  a  man  might  want  to  drown 
all  pride  and  sense  in  drunkenness.  He  poured  the 
crude  stuff  down  his  parched  throat,  as  if  it  were 
water.  One  swallow  was  not  enough,  nor  two,  but 
when  he  set  the  bottle  upon  the  table  at  last,  the 
lawyer  resumed, 


A    LEGAL  DISTLNCTLON..  3^1 

"  And  SO  it  would  have  been  good,  nine  times 
out  of  ten,  good  enough  to  make  all  parties  con- 
cerned comfortable.  A  document  is  a  document  to 
most  people,  a  seal  is  a  seal.  As  a  man  thinketh,  so 
is  he.  Parties  divorced  by  my  fiat  alone,  re-marry 
and  raise  children,  and  are  as  happy  and  clear  of 
conscience  as  if  they  were  not  committing  a  sin 
every  hour  of  their  lives,  unless  it  happens  to  come 

out." 

''  This  has  come  out,  I  suppose,  and  Lockout  is 
all  agog  with  it."  PhiHp's  heart  stopped  beating 
while  he  waited  for  his  answer. 

"  No,  my  dear  sir,  another  mistake  ;  no  one  under 
heaven  knows  of  it  but  me,  and  you  now."  Breton 
must  have  taken  him  for  a  fool. 

Philip  started  from  his  chair  like  lightning. 
''Thank  God,  then  Bertha  is  safe  yet." 

But  Giddings  attempted  to  look  very  stern. 
"  Did  you  suppose  I  made  out  that  complaint  for 
nothing?  She  is  rich  and  beautiful  and  proud,  no 
doubt,  but  the  same  law  hangs  over  her  as  the  rest 
of  us.  No  one  knows  of  her  crime  yet,  but  before 
the  sun  sets,"  the  attorney  rose,  and  cautiously  put 
the  table  between  himself  and  his  guest,  whose  eyes 
seemed  to  him  to  gleam  dangerously,  "  but  before 
the  sun  sets,"  he  continued,  watching  the  other 
closely,  "  an  officer  with  a  warrant  will  call  at  your 
front  door." 


362  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Philip  lifted  his  chair  high  in  the  air,  and  brought 
it  down  like  a  trip-hammer,  where  Giddings  had 
stood.  But  the  dextrous  attorney  had  dodged 
aside,  and  left  the  chair  to  break  into  splinters  over 
the  table. 

"  Scoundrel,  will  you  come  with  handcuffs  and 
billets  to  take  away  my  darling  wife  from  my  arms, 
for  following  your  lying  counsels  ?  Is  that  your 
law  ?  Does  it  choose  such  ministers  as  you  to  break 
up  peaceful  homes,  and  shut  behind  bars  a  woman 
as  innocent  as  an  angel  ?" 

Philip  was  advancing  toward  him  when  Giddings 
suddenly  threw  up  the  window  and  leaning  out 
shouted  to  a  policeman.  Then  he  looked  back  to 
Philip. 

''  Another  step — and  your  wife  goes  to  jail." 

"  I  won't  touch  you,"  and  Philip  folded  his  arms 
across  his  breast,  while  the  red  blood  forsook  his 
face  at  the  threat.  He  was  in  this  contemptible 
creature's  power  ;  he  might  grind  his  teeth  at  him  ; 
he  must  obey  him. 

"  You  seem  very  obtuse,  Mr.  Breton,"  explained 
the  lawyer,  from  a  respectful  distance.  ''  I  have  no 
ill-will  toward  Mrs.  Breton,  a  very  modest,  and  I 
may  add — " 

*' As  sure  as  there  is  a  God,  if  you  speak  of  her 
so,  I  will  throw  you  from  the  window.  Your  secret 
will  die  with  you  then." 


A  LEGAL   DISTINCTLON.  3^3 

The  lawyer  smiled  unhealthily.  "  I  want  money, 
that  is  all  there  is  to  it.  You  are  rich — Mrs.  Breton — 
well,  well,  don't  be  angry.  In  a  word,  I  want  to  be 
paid  to  keep  my  secret." 

Philip  cast  a  glance  of  ineffable  contempt  at  him. 
Then  he  put  his  hands  behind  him  and  walked  slowly 
across  the  room.  The  price  of  life,  of  honor,  of  lib- 
erty, no  money  could  measure  it,  but  what  trust  could 
he  rest  in  the  fidelity  of  so  base  a  creature  as  this  ?  He 
would  suck  his  blood  forever,  and  forever  cry  for 
more ;  he  would  learn  that  his  victim  would  make 
himself  a  beggar  to  save  this  woman,  and  he  would 
beggar  him  without  shame.  He  might  not  stop 
with  money  favors  ;  he  might  require  to  be  made 
his  companion  ;  to  be  invited  to  his  table,  and  pre- 
sented to  his  friends  ;  to  be  godfather  to  his  children  ; 
and  at  last  in  anger  at  his  victim's  incurable  hate,  or 
in  some  drunken  debauch,  the  spy,  who  had  embit- 
tered his  life  with  daily  humiliation,  might  bring  or 
call  down  on  him  the  ruin  he  had  feared  so  long. 
His  life-long  slavery  would  have  been  in  vain.  Bet- 
ter a  dungeon — no.  Bertha  must  not  be  sacrificed. 
He  turned  on  his  heel  and  stopped  before  his  tor- 
mentor, 

"  How  much  do  you  want  ?  " 

His  glassy  eye  brightened.  "  Oh,  I  would  not  be 
too  hard  just  because  I  have  got  the  whip-hand  of 
you.     Say  two  hundred,  and  your  secret  is  safe." 


364  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

*'  For  how  long  ?  "  sneered  Philip. 

"  Forever,"  answered  Giddings,  with  virtuous 
decision.  "  I  swear  before  God  I  will  never  ask 
another  penny  of  you  ;  and  your  secret  shall  die 
with  me." 

Philip  had  taken  out  his  pocket-book.  He  found 
a  fifty  dollar  bill ;  then  he  drew  a  check  for  one 
hundred  and  fifty  dollars.  The  poor  lawyer  eyed 
the  money  with  a  great  tenderness ;  his  heart  soft- 
ened at  sight  of  it,  and  the  love  of  approbation, 
that  never  dies  out  of  even  the  most  degraded 
souls,  stirred  in  his. 

"  I  aint  so  bad  a  fellow,  after  all,"  he  said,  as  he 
took  up  the  money  ;  ''  I  know  lots  of  men  who  in  my 
place  wouldn't  have  let  you  off  for  less  than  a  cool 
thousand." 

"  Your  circle  of  friends  must  be  very  select." 
Philip  was  moving  towards  the  door. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  but  somehow  the  law- 
yer kept  close  to  him,  "  I  couldn't  help  feeling  sorry 
for  you  ;  and  then  your  wife  is  such  a  nice  woman  ; 
it  never  seemed  to  me  jails  were  made  for  such  as 
she — " 

"  Stop  your  driveling,"  cried  Philip,  turning  on 
him  so  suddenly  the  man  fancied  at  first  he  had  been 
struck,  "keep  your  blood  money;  but  don't  dare  to 
breathe  her  name,  even  in  your  prayers." 

The  lawyer  chuckled  to  himself  when  the  door 


A  LEGAL    DLSTLNCTION.  365 

closed  behind  his  wealthy    client.      "  I    suppose    I 
have  considerable  grit." 

Then  he  pocketed  the  bill  and  scrutinized  the 
check.  '■'  But  I  was  almost  too  easy  with  him. 
Some  fellows,  now,  would  have  just  bled  him." 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

The    White  Chamber. 

THE  five  o'clock  train  drew  up  at  the  Breton- 
ville  station  and  the  young  husband  alighted  a 
changed  man.  The  brick  walls  of  his  mills  looked 
strangely  unfamiliar  to  him.  Was  he  indeed  the 
owner  of  them  ?  Was  that  his  house  set  like  a 
castle  on  the  hill  off  to  the  left?  It  seemed  impos- 
sible that  any  of  his  old  acquaintances  should  recog- 
nize him,  but  here  somebody  was  shaking  hands 
with  him. 

"  What,  so  soon  away  from  your  young  wife  ?  " 
*'  Business,"  muttered  Philip,  breaking  away  from 
him  impatiently.  How  the  man's  simple  blue  eyes 
would  start  out  of  their  sockets  if  he  guessed  what 
the  business  had  been.  How  he  would  regale  his 
eager  family  with  the  infamous  story,  and  sleep  more 
complacently  that  night  for  the  sudden  calamity  that 
had  fallen  on  the  rich  man's  home,  while  he  was  safe 
and  his  home  spotless. 

Another  acquaintance  drew  Philip's  hand  through 
his  arm  before  he  could  reach  his  carriage.  ''  Some- 
thing very  confidential,"  he  whispered  mysteriously. 


THE   WHITE  CHAMBER.  367 

'  Then  Philip  had  bribed  the  greedy  lawyer  to  keep 
a  secret  he  had  already  feasted  the  whole  country  on. 
He  glanced  around  him  with  a  new  hunted  look  in 
his  face.  He  fancied  he  saw  a  peculiar  expression 
in  the  eyes  of  the  bystanders.  Some  of  them  ap- 
peared to  avoid  looking  at  him. 

"  It  is  this."  Philip  held  his  breath  and  the  man 
laughed  at  his  humor.  "  One  would  think  you  were 
scared  to  death.  I  was  only  going  to  say  my  wife 
and  I  want  to  call  to-morrow  on  your  charming 
bride." 

"  By  all  means,"  Philip  answered  huskily,  and 
threw  himself  into  his  carriage.  He  had  nothing  to 
fear  from  this  man  at  least,  he  clearly  enough  had 
not  heard  the  news.  People  don't  call  on — it  was 
too  terrible  !  He  let  down  the  carriage  window  for 
fresh  air.  The  village  policeman  stood  by  the  road- 
side talking  to  a  stranger.  As  the  carriage  passed 
they  spoke  01  Breton  apparently,  and  laughed.  The 
man  must  be  a  detective,  armed  with  the  authority 
to  break  into  his  home  and  carry  away  his  wife. 
They  would  shut  her  in  the  dock  crowded  close  by 
murderers  and  foul-mouthed  thieves.  The  court- 
house galleries  would  be  packed  with  ruffians  to 
stare  at  her  sweet,  frightened  face,  and  her  high  bred 
friends  would  sit  below  and  look  insolent  disdain  at 
her  and  wonder  how  they  ever  escaped  contamina- 
tion from  her. 


368  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

"  Drive  faster,"  he  shouted  to  the  coachman. 
Perhaps  they  had  not  seized  her  yet  and  clasped 
their  hideous  iron  bracelets  about  her  dimpled  arms. 

'■'  Faster,  faster,"  he  cried.  If  he  were  there  they 
would  not  dare  to  touch  her.  Would  they  dare 
burst  in  his  gate  and  break  down  his  massive  oaken 
doors,  stride  with  their  soiled  boots  through  his  par- 
lors and  tear  her  from  his  very  arms.  His  father 
created  their  very  town,  and  the  men  whom  Philip 
Breton  had  befriended  would  rush  to  his  help.  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  house  so  grand  as  his  being  invaded 
by  loud-voiced  officers — of  justice,  they  called  it,  to 
drag;  a  wife  from  her  home.     Let  them  dare  to  do  it. 

"  Faster,  drive  faster." 

The  carriage  rolled  into  his  grounds  and  he 
leaped  out  and  looked  about  him.  He  saw  no  signs 
of  a  disturbance  yet.  The  crowd  of  curious  camp- 
followers  that  love  to  invest  scenes  of  violence  long 
after  the  echo  of  the  screams  of  sufferers  are  still, 
had  not  come — not  yet.  His  gardener  was  cutting  a 
bouquet  of  roses.  Bless  his  grey  head,  he  would 
not  be  making  bouquets  for  an  outraged,  plundered 
home. 

''Whom  are  you  cutting  the  roses  for?"  How 
heavy  his  master's  hand  rested  on  his  shoulder. 

**  For  the  mistress,  if  you  please,  sir." 

"  Is  she  within  then  ?  " 

"  Can't  you  hear  her  playin',  sir?" 


THE   WHITE  CHAMBER.  369 

Thank  God  for  that  gentle  breeze  that  brought 
the  music  to  his  ears.  It  was  that  same  familiar  air 
from  "  Traviata,"  that  she  had  played  the  night  he 
had  left  her  for  the  labor  meeting  before  the  first 
shadow  had  crossed  her  life.     But  she  was  safe  yet. 

He  mounted  the  brown-stone  steps,  and  unlocked 
the  door.  He  closed  it  very  softly  after  him  and  with 
noiseless  step  made  his  way  to  the  drawing-room. 
The  door  stood  half  open ;  he  looked  in  at  Bertha, 
his  one  week  wife.  She  wore  no  cloak  or  hat  to  show 
she  had  soon  to  go,  and  her  foot  that  rested  on  the 
pedal  was  slippered  ;  why  not  ?  She  had  come  to  stay, 
night,  morning,  noon,  always.     She  had  come  to  stay. 

But  a  sudden  change  passed  over  his  face.  That 
proud-faced  woman — was  a — they  called  it  a  criminal, 
a  felon,  on  whose  soft  white  shoulder  any  policeman  in 
the  state  might  freely  lay  his  rude  hand.  She  would 
look  to  him,  but  he  could  not  help  her;  he  had  un- 
dertaken to  protect  her,  but  he  must  stand  back 
with  breaking  heart  while  they  dragged  her  away. 
Could  they  not  let  him  imprison  her  at  home?  She 
should  never  go  outside ;  a  cell,  for  such  as  she  !  she 
would  die — was  there  no  pity  in  their  iron  laws?  To- 
morrow her  name  would  be  heralded  abroad  ;  per- 
haps her  sweet  face,  almost  too  fair  for  kisses,  would 
be  blazoned  on  the  outside  sheet  of  the  lowest 
picture  papers,  and  the  dregs  of  the  great  cities 
would   revel  in  its  insulted   beauty.     Poor  girl,  she 


3  /O  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

was  thinking  she  had  a  right  with  him — that  her  home 
was  in  his  arms,  perhaps  dreaming  of  a  household 
whose  queen  she  should  be,  of  pretty,  proud-faced 
boys  and  blue-eyed  daughters  who  should  sometimes 
cluster  about  her  knees.  She  was  living  in  a  false 
world.  Her  children — God  grant  she  might  never 
have  them — ah,  the  law  had  a  bitter  name  for  what 
their  children  would  be.  He  was  the  wealthiest  man 
in  a  hundred  miles,  and  he  could  not  give  his  children 
a  name.  Her  children  ;  how  he  could  love  them  ; 
but  each  young  face,  in  turn,  must  mantle  with 
shame.  His  love  for  them  would  have  the  same  ter- 
rible mingling  of  pain  that  makes  love  more  torture 
than  happiness.  And  was  there  nothing  he  could  do 
for  this  woman  ?  She  had  given  herself  to  him,  all  his 
vows  were  upon  him. 

*'  Bertha."  She  looked  up  and  smiled  on  his 
stricken  face  and  played  on. 

He  came  up  behind  her.  She  was  his  yet.  He 
bent  down  and  kissed  her  warm  white  neck  beneath 
her  red  gold  hair.  The  law  had  not  claimed  her  yet, 
and  all  the  rites  of  religion  had  once  made  her  his 
wife.  One  moment  he  stood  by  her  side  ;  the  next 
he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  imprisoned  the  quick  fly- 
ing hands.  He  felt  he  could  not  bear  the  music  now, 
it  was  a  wild  waltz  she  was  playing ;  he  bowed  his 
head  in  her  lap. 

"  Why  Philip,  are  you  so  tired  ?  " 


THE   WHITE  CHAMBER.  37 1 

*'  I  am  weary  unto  death,''  and  his  bent  form 
shook  with  agony  and  baffled  love. 

Bertha's  eyes  rested  calmly  on  his  head  for  a 
moment,  then  glanced  at  the  music  sheet  on  its  rack ; 
not  a  spark  of  emotion  showed  in  their  clear  depths. 
The  perfect  shape  of  her  mouth  was  not  hurt  by  one 
disturbing  quiver  of  the  rare  red  lips ;  they  did  not 
curve  downward  in  gentle  tenderness,  nor  part  in 
sweet  pity.  There  was  not  one  shade  more  of  color 
in  her  fair  cheeks  for  this  trembling  heart-broken 
man  whose  whole  soul  seemed  dissolving  in  love  and 
sacrifice  ;  who  would  have  suffered  a  life-time  to  save 
her  from  the  unguessed  fate  which  hovered  fearfully 
above  her  gold-crowned  head. 

It  was  two  hours  later  that  Philip  saddled  and 
bridled  Joe  the  white  horse,  and  set  out  for  Mrs. 
EUingsworth's.  Strangely  enough,  as  he  sat  at  tea  he 
had  remembered  the  first  malevolent  expression  in 
Jane  EUingsworth's  face  as  his  bride  and  he  drove 
past  that  very  noon.  It  had  changed  so  quickly  to 
smiles  that  he  had  doubted  his  eyes,  but  he  trembled 
at  his  memory  of  it  now,  and  the  piece  of  paper  that 
had  fluttered  to  her  feet,  what  could  it  be  ?  Could  it 
be  she  knew  all ;  that  while  he  was  buying  over  the 
lawyer  so  that  he  should  not  use  his  terrible  power, 
there  might  be  near  at  hand  an  enemy  to  the  death, 
who  only  toyed  a  moment  with  her  poisoned  arrow 
to  shoot  it  when  it  would  strike  with  deadUest  effect  ? 


372  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

Philip  had  parted  with  Bertha  as  painfully  as  if  he 
were  leaving  her  to  die,  and  as  he  rode  off  he  looked 
up  and  down  the  street  as  if  danger  lurked  in  every 
shadow. 

Ought  he  not  to  have  told  her?  But  what  good? 
She  might  enjoy  a  few  more  days  of  calm  ;  the  worst 
could  not  be  worse  than  such  torture  of  fear  and 
hourly  dread  as  he  suffered.  She  trusted  him  per- 
fectly, and  he  believed  he  could  fight  best  alone. 
He  would  ward  off  every  danger  human  brain  could 
foresee,  and  wealth  and  strength  and  ingenuity  op- 
pose, and  then ;  oh  God,  and  then  !  But  it  could  do 
no  good  to  warn  her  ;  she  might  flutter  in  her  terror 
straight  into  the  very  jaws  of  destruction  ;  as  for  him, 
he  could  be  cool  and  firm,  though  his  heart  was  con- 
suming within  him.  And  who  knows  ;  the  hair  that 
held  the  sword  above  her  head  might  never  snap, 
and  at  last  after  many  years — what  years  of  agony 
they  would  be  to  him — she  might  lie  down  at  last  in 
an  honored  grave.  No,  he  would  not  tell  her.  If 
God  in  his  mercy  would  permit  him,  he  would  thank 
him  night  and  morning,  and  carry  the  burden  of 
hourly  terror,  for  her  sake,  alone. 

The  horse  was  not  happy.  His  master  had  no 
kind  word  for  him  after  his  absence,  not  one  stroke 
for  his  glossy  neck.  He  sidled  sulkily  to  and  fro  across 
the  road  and  made  but  very  slow  progress,  till  a  sharp 
blow  of  the  hand  that  was  used  to  pat  him,  sent  him 


THE    WHITE  CHAMBER.  373 

bounding  in  great  leaps  on  his  way  forgetful  of  every- 
thing except  his  own  resentment.  But  when  he 
reached  Mr.  Ellingsworth's  gate,  Philip  was  sorry  he 
had  come  so  fast,  for  he  had  not  thought  yet  how  to 
conceal  his  motive  in  coming.  But  Jane  received  him 
so  cordially  that  he  quite  forgot  he  had  anything  to 
conceal.  Opportunities  were  not  thrown  away  on 
her.  She  had  the  art  of  appearing  a  lady  so  well, 
none  but  the  best  trained  eye,  as  her  elegant  hus- 
band's, for  instance,  could  detect  the  factory  girl 
beneath.  She  had  long  since  corrected  all  her  inac- 
curacies of  speech;  she  could  receive  and  dismiss  a 
caller  to  perfection.  She  had  the  proper  gradations 
in  manner  for  the  difference  in  wealth  and  position 
of  her  acquaintance.  Of  books  and  art  she  knew 
almost  nothing,  and  cared  as  little,  but  she  had  picked 
up  the  catch-words  in  vogue  and  it  must  be  a  very 
discerning  guest  of  her  cultivated  husband  who  dis- 
covered that  learned  talk  and  elegant  criticism  were 
not  alone  unintelligible,  but  absolutely  stupid  to  her. 
She  had  learned  among  other  things,  that  her  parlor 
furniture  was  bad,  and  everything  had  been  changed 
again.  She  had  improved  in  her  taste  for  ornaments, 
too,  and  her  heavy  chains  and  bracelets  were  shut 
away  in  a  drawer  up  stairs.  She  had  found  it  so 
much  easier  to  be  a  fine  lady  than  she  had  supposed  ; 
fine  ladies  are  so  much  alike  in  the  sort  of  things 
they  do  and  say,  that  all  that  is  necessary  is  to  do 


3  74  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

and  say  things  after  a  certain  easy  fashion,  and  it  is 
accomplished. 

This  evening  Jane  EUingsworth  appeared  at  her 
very  best.  She  made  Philip  tell  her  where  he  had 
been  with  his  bride,  on  their  short  trip,  and  all  they 
had  seen,  and  was  so  charmingly  interested  that  he 
imagined  he  was  succeeding  in  quite  winning  her 
over  in  Bertha's  favor.  Then  she  hoped  they  would 
be  so  ''  very  happy,"  and  drooped  her  black  lashes 
at  last  in  a  beautiful  stroke  of  daring. 

"  Will  you  be  sure  and  quite  forget,  I  ever  thought 
I  disliked  Bertha?  I  mean  to  be  so  very  devoted 
now,  if  you,  and  she  will  let  me." 

"  Do  you  ?  "  he  exclaimed  drawing  a  deep  breath 
of  relief.  *'  God  bless  you  for  it ;  make  our  house 
your  other  home."  How  he  had  misjudged  this  ami- 
able girl.  He  would  persuade  Bertha  to  be  very 
kind  to  her.  How  very  fortunate  women  do  not  hold 
their  hates  as  men  do.  While  he  had  been  speaking 
she  had  turned  her  head  away,  but  as  he  said  good- 
night, she  looked  him  in  the  face  again. 

"■  Why,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  he  said  quickly, 
*'  your  lip  is  bleeding." 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing,  good-night.'* 

The  horse  was  put  into  the  stall  with  his  mas- 
ter's own  hand  that  night,  and  rewarded  for  his 
services,  at  last,  with  the  kind  words  that  made  him 
lay  back  his  ears  in  content.     Then  Philip  went  into 


THE   WHITE  CHAMBER.  375 

the  house  and  bolted  the  doors  with  a  new  sense  of 
possession.  Bertha  was  within,  with  him  ;  the  whole 
world  besides  was  shut  without,  for  to-night,  at  least. 
He  hung  up  his  hat  and  looked  into  the  drawing- 
room.  The  gas  was  in  full  blaze,  the  piano  open, 
and  music  sheets  in  place  ;  a  book  lay  on  a  chair,  as 
if  just  dropped  there,  but  Bertha  was  not  in  the 
room.  He  turned  out  the  gas,  and  stepped  along 
to  the  library — he  had  been  sure  she  would  like  that 
place,  it  was,  somehow,  exquisitely  in  keeping  with 
her  tastes,  and  her  own  classic  repose.  But  it  was 
dark,  and  no  one  was  there.  In  sudden  vague  fear, 
he  bounded  up  the  stairs.  She  was  not  in  her  bou- 
doir, and  he  pushed  open  the  door  into  the  white 
chamber.  The  gas  was  turned  down  low,  but  he  put 
aside  the  curtains  of  the  canopy,  and  there  lay  Ber- 
tha. Her  lips  were  just  parted  in  a  sweet  dream, 
and  the  delicious  suggestion  of  a  smile  was  in  her 
closed  eye-lids  too.  All  the  thunders  of  hell  might 
be  echoing  around  her,  the  dear  head  rested  in  per- 
fect peace.  A  terrible  fate  trembled  over  her,  but 
she  was  as  unconscious  of  it  as  the  babe  of  an  hour. 
He  bent  over  her  with  a  yearning  tenderness  in  his 
eyes.  One  white  arm  lay  on  the  coverlet,  he  kissed 
it  as  softly  as  if  it  were  a  holy  thing.  He  bowed  his 
head  low  over  her  face,  that  seemed  in  her  sleep  to 
have  a  new  gentleness  and  warmth  in  it.  He  drank 
her  sweet  child-like  breath.     What  was  she   dream- 


3/6  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

ing  of,  he  wondered.  He  just  touched  her  lips,  when 
she  moved  uneasily  in  her  sleep,  and  murmured  his 
name. 

"  Bertha,  you  came  to  me  pure,  with  no  sin  on 
your  white  soul.  It  is  I  who  have  put  it  there,  I, 
who  loved  you  better  than  myself,  have  put  the 
sin  upon  you.  And  you  never  knew,  my  love,  my 
darling,  yes,  my  holy  one,  you  never  knew  what  you 
did."  His  slight  form  shook  with  a  great  tear- 
less sob.  Then  he  closed  the  curtains  about  her  bed 
with  lingering  tenderness,  turned  out  the  light  and 
left  the  room 

It  was  at  the  same  moment  that  Jane  Ellings- 
worth  drew  a  letter  from  her  pocket,  as  she  sat  in 
the  parlor  where  Philip  had  left  her.  She  had  read 
the  letter  a  dozen  times  ;  it  was  the  same  that  had 
fluttered  to  the  floor  when  she  had  thrown  kisses  to 
the  bridal  pair,  and  this  was  the  part  that  inter- 
ested her  so  much : 

"  You  ask  me  why  I  did  not  marry  Bertha. 
Who  has  been  insulting  her  then?  She  is  my  wife, 
so  far  as  laws  can  make  a  wife.  She  left  me  because 
she  no  longer  loved  me.  I  suppose  I  was  too  ill- 
bred  and  common  a  man  for  her.  If  she  had  only 
known  it  before.  I  watched  her  in  terror,  as  she  be- 
gan to  awake  from  her  dream  of  love.  I  tried  to 
woo  her  again.  I  thought  it  might  be  I  was  not 
fond  enough,  and  I  became  so  tender,  I  wearied  her. 


THE   WHITE  CHAMBER.  Z77 

I  thought  perhaps  I  was  not  gentle  enough,  and  then 
I  never  spoke  to  her  but  in  approval.  But  her 
beautiful  face  grew  colder  and  colder  every  day.  I 
saw  the  light  of  love  that  had  made  it  an  angel's 
fade  hour  by  hour.  Then  I  fell  on  my  knees  and 
prayed  her  to  love  me,  but  she  only  drew  back  her 
skirts  ;  then  I  told  her  I  must  die  if  she  were  cruel 
to  me,  and  asked — begged  her  to  love  me  for  pity, 
but  when  the  tide  of  love  begins  to  ebb,  all  the 
prayers  and  lamentations  of  a  world  cannot  stay 
it.  She  was  not  like  other  women,  she  did  not  cry 
for  her  old  associates,  or  for  the  fashionable  society 
that  once  cherished  her.  She  did  not  reproach  me 
because  I  talked  of  nothing  so  much  as  the  wrongs 
of  my  class,  because  I  disliked  the  gay,  false  life  she 
was  bred  in,  and  sighed  to  return  to.  But  her  face 
grew  cold  and  hard,  and  the  love  died  out  of  her 
voice.  She  never  confessed  she  had  mistaken  her- 
self in  marrying  me  till  the  very  hour  she  left  me. 
Yes,  she  is  my  wife,  and  my  heart  aches  always  for 
her.  Write  and  tell  me  where  she  is — perhaps 
sometime  she  may  come  back  to  me,  for  she  once 
seemed   to  love  me,  and  they  say  love  cannot  die. 

CURRAN." 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

Evil  Eyes. 

PHILIP  BRETON  began  to  notice  in  the  next 
few  days  that  a  new  spirit  of  discontent  had 
come  over  the  factory  hands.  Before  the  walls  of 
the  new  mill  had  risen  ten  feet  from  its  foundations, 
the  smiles  that  used  to  salute  him,  and  warm  his 
heart,  as  he  walked  among  his  people  and  through 
the  village  that  he  had  made  smile  too — had  faded 
from  averted,  sullen  faces.  Once,  the  men  and  their 
women  could  find  no  words  strong  enough  to  ex- 
press their  love  and  gratitude  to  him.  Now  he 
heard  constant  complaints  against  the  long  hours 
that  he  still  thought  necessary ;  and  against  the 
smallness  of  their  share  in  the  profits  of  the  mill. 
Did  they  not  every  one  of  them  work  a  hundred 
times  harder  than  he,  who  only  seemed  to  have  to 
look  over  a  few  papers  ;  or  lean  back  in  his  office 
chair  and  talk  for  a  few  hours,  when  he  chose? 
Philip  recalled  with  heart-sickness  a  great  many 
times  during  these  days,  that  paragraph  from  the 
Lockout  Journal  that  seemed  to  have  clung  to  his 
memory  word  for  word. 


EVIL  EYES.  379 

*'  Mr.  Breton's  scheme  encourages  the  spirit  of 
restlessness  among  the  working  classes.  He  may 
think  he  gives  them  enough  ;  their  wants  and  com- 
plaints will  always  keep  just  ahead  of  the  favors 
granted  them.  They  will  grow  bolder  at  signs  of 
weakness,  and  he  will  soon  find  that  they  have 
passed  beyond  his  power  of  restraint."  Philip  was 
fast  losing  his  only  hope  and  consolation.  The 
dissatisfaction  seemed  to  increase  every  day,  and  it 
was  borne  in  upon  him  that  his  life  in  all  its  relations 
was  to  prove  a  complete  failure.  The  people  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  how  much  better  off  they  were 
than  others  ;  to  have  forgotten  the  concessions  he  had 
given  them,  such  as  no  other  mill-owner  thought  of 
for  a  moment.  There  was  so  much  more  they 
wanted,  that  he  had  not  granted.  He  had  opened 
their  eyes  to  their  condition  more  than  he  had  satis- 
fied their  ambition.  They  accepted  the  principle 
he  had  explained  and  illustrated  to  them,  and  carried 
it  out  in  relentless  logic.  Philip  thought  they  were 
more  restless  now,  than  in  the  worst  days  under  his 
father's  inflexible  management  ;  there  were  more 
frequent  meetings  and  bolder  threats. 

It  was  at  this  time,  when  the  light  of  hope  was 
almost  faded  from  his  soul,  and  when  he  was  fear- 
ful of  dangers  on  every  side,  that  Bertha  said  she 
would  like  to  see  her  husband's  mill.  He  could  not 
tell  her  that  he  did  not  dare  to  have  her  seen  ;  that 


38o  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

he  suspected  her  secret  had  spread  among  the  vil- 
lagers ;  and  that  he  feared  the  people  whose  master 
he  was. 

''  Isn't  it  too  cold  this  morning,"  he  answered, 
avoiding  her  eyes,  while  he  cast  about  wildly  for 
a  pretence  to  keep  her  at  home. 

"■  I  am  not  an  invalid,  Philip,"  she  said  smilingly, 
**  and  you  have  kept  me  shut  up  as  if  I  were  a  pris- 
oner.    What  crime  have  I  committed  ?  " 

He  tried  to  laugh,  but  a  sorry  thing  he  made  of  it. 

"  Well,  shall  we  have  the  coupe?  " 

**  Why  no  ;  you  aren't  jealous  of  me,  are  you  ?" 

Surely  it  was  no  harm  for  him  to  kiss  her  even  if — 

In  a  few  moments  his  beach  wagon  was  at  the 
door.  He  helped  her  in  and  taking  his  seat  in  front 
with  a  strange  binding  sensation  in  his  throat,  looked 
neither  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left,  but  drove  as  if 
he  were  on  a  race  course. 

"  Why,  Philip,  you  take  my  breath  away.  Why 
don't  you  enjoy  the  morning  with  me  ?''  How  the 
people  gathered  in  the  windows  to  see  them  go  by. 

**  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  he  said. 

*'  There  is  Jane  signaling  us  ;  aren't  you  going  to 
stop  ?  Oh,  yes,  that  is  right.  Here  is  a  good  chance 
to  be  friendly  as  you  wished."  <-., 

"  May  I  ride  too  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Ellingsworth,  with 
childlike  eagerness.  One  might  have  thought  some- 
times she  had  grown  ten  years  younger  with  her  new 


EVIL  EYES.  381 

accomplishments.  The  carriage  drew  up  to  the  curb- 
stone, and  the  usual  greetings  were  exchanged. 
*'  Isn't  it  dehghtful?"  said  she,  as  she  took  her  seat 
with  them.  Jane  was  all  smiles  and  bright  glances 
this  morning. 

"How  does  it  seem  to  be  married,  Bertha?" 
she  asked,  with  charming  innocence.  Philip  caught 
up  his  whip  with  a  look  so  black  Jane  thought  he 
would  strike  her. 

She  saw  he  knew  all ;  he  had  found  it  out  some 
way ;  but  certainly  not  from  Bertha,  whose  face 
changed  not  in  the  smallest  expression  as  she  made 
a  graceful  answer. 

Jane  was  in  a  whirl  of  suppressed  excitement  at 
the  new  position  affairs  had  suddenly  taken.  What 
a  situation  !  She  must  be  more  careful  now  in  what 
she  said  and  did.  Philip  knew  all  and  she  knew  the 
rare  making  of  the  man  ;  he  would  guard  his  un- 
worthy wife  as  a  lioness  her  young.  He  would 
reckon  of  no  account  any  sacrifice.  The  whole  ex- 
pression of  his  thin  pale  face  had  changed  since  the 
day  she  had  seen  him  gazing  so  rapturously  at  his 
bride,  when  they  drove  past  her  window.  His  hap- 
piness was  dead,  his  hope  was  gone  ;  he  saw  nothing 
but  shame  and  ignominy  ;  or  a  terrible  daily  burden 
of  fear  and  horror  before  him.  But  Jane  knew  the 
man  ;  she  had  tried  him  ;  he  would  not  flinch.  He 
had  set  himself  not  only  the  task  of  defending  her 


382  THE  BRE  TON  MIL  L  S. 

from  the  punishment  of  her  crime  ;  but  even  from 
the  guilty  consciousness  of  it. 

While  Jane  Ellingsworth  affected  to  be  admir- 
ing the  horses,  she  studied  the  stern  set  look  of 
the  face  of  this  devoted  husband,  the  deathly  weari- 
ness about  his  mouth,  the  suspense  in  his  eyes. 
Then  she  glanced  at  Bertha,  the  woman  who 
now  the  second  time  had  struck  him  ;  this  time 
mortally ;  who  had  given  him  for  the  reward  of 
his  matchless  love  and  tenderness  first  humilia- 
tion and  loneliness,  and  now  the  hourly  fear  of  in- 
famy, certain  to  come  in  due  time.  Bertha  was 
smiling  idly  at  some  children  at  play  by  the  road- 
side ;  the  old  indifference  was  on  her  face  ;  the  old 
pride  in  the  untroubled  depths  of  her  blue  eyes. 
Well,  let  her  wear  it  awhile,  doubtless  there 
was  a  shame  that  could  touch  her ;  doubtless 
her  cold  heart  could  be  racked  at  last,  unshaken 
as  it  was  yet  by  the  ruin  it  had  worked  in  three 
lives. 

Philip  pulled  up  his  horses  at  the  counting-room 
door. 

"■  There  are  the  mills,"  and  he  pointed  his  whip 
at  the  great  brick  buildings,  that  seemed  murmuring 
hoarsely  to  themselves  in  their  own  strange  lan- 
guage. 

"■  But  I  want  to  go  into  them,"  insisted  Bertha 
after  she  had  alighted. 


EVIL  EYES.  383 

*'  It  would  not  interest  you,"  answered  Philip 
steadily.    "  Would  it,  Mrs.  Ellingsworth  ?  " 

Jane  understood  the  looks  and  words,  he  feared 
for  her,  and  glanced  curiously  at  the  woman  who 
struggled  so  blindly  against  his  protective  love.  The 
lower  part  of  her  face  had  become  set  and  slightly 
unpleasant. 

'*  It  is  very  dusty  and  the  smell  of  the  oil  would 
make  you  ill,"  suggested  Mrs.  Ellingsworth.  They 
were  standing  at  the  edge  of  the  piazza  in  full  view 
of  the  windows  of  the  workroom  above,  and  the  help 
were  collecting  curiously  and  looking  down. 

'*  Please  come  into  the  office."  Philip  laid  his 
hand  lightly  on  Bertha's  arm,  but  she  stepped  a  little 
away  from  him. 

*'No,  I  thank  you  !  "  she  answered  in  measured 
tones.     "  I  will  wait  here  for  you." 

A  gentleman  whom  no  one  noticed  had  come  up 
the  street,  from  the  depot,  and  was  just  crossing  over 
toward  them. 

*'  Please  not  wait  here,  my  love,"  urged  Philip, 
very  gently.  "  Only  see— the  help  from  the  windows 
above  are  all  staring  at  you." 

''  It  will  not  harm  me.  May  I  trouble  you  to 
help  me  into  the  carriage  ?  I  think  I  will  sit  there. 
Thank  you." 

Jane  stood  back  a  little,  watching  the  unravel- 
ing of  the  plot,  whose  thread  she  held  in  her  hands. 


384  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

It  was  very  thrilling.  She  saw  the  stranger  come 
up  and  lay  his  hand  on  Philip  Breton's  shoulder. 
Who  could  he  be  with  his  mysterious  air,  his  black 
felt  hat  torn  in  the  crown,  and  his  shiny  broadcloth 
coat  without  cuffs?  Philip  had  glanced  again  up  at 
the  windows  on  the  floor  above,  where  a  number  of 
the  operatives  had  gathered.  Behind  them  stood  a 
man  who  fancied  himself  in  the  shadow,  but  Philip 
could  see  him  point  his  finger  at  Bertha,  and  his 
lips  move.  Then  the  rest  looked  back  at  him  and 
laughed  and  looked  at  Bertha,  and  laughed  again. 
The  fellow  peered  forward  incautiously  and  the 
light  fell  upon  the  same  malicious,  distorted  fea- 
tures Philip  had  seen  reflected  in  the  sideboard  mir- 
ror the  day  he  brought  his  bride  home.  It  was 
Thomas  Bailes,  one  of  the  witnesses  to  Bertha's  mar- 
riage with  Curran.  But  Bertha  sat  superbly  indif- 
ferent, the  centre  of  their  evil  eyes,  the  mark  of 
their  scurrilous  words.  Philip  turned  as  the  stranger's 
hand  fell  on  his  shoulder. 

"  May  I  have  your  ear  for  a  moment  ?  "  said  the 
ill  dressed  man  in  a  low  tone.  Philip  seemed  to 
stagger  under  a  new  blow.  Jane's  keen  eyes  were 
very  curious  over  this  odd  meeting,  but  Bertha 
noticed  nothing. 

So  three  enemies  to  Bertha  and  his  own  honor 
met  by  chance  at  the  gate  of  his  great  mill  yard, 
ignorant  each  of  the  very  existence  and  of  the  mo- 


EVIL  EYES.  385 

tives  of  the  others,  but  each  working  for  the  ruin  of 
a  Hfe.  Three  mines  were  planted  under  one  weak 
woman's  feet,  but  neither  enemy  knew  there  was  an- 
other; they  were  plotters,  but  not  conspirators,  and 
more  deadly  far.  If  she  escaped  one  she  must  fall 
by  another,  if  one  were  melted  by  prayers,  still  two 
remained  ;  if  one  were  bribed  with  uncounted  wealth, 
still  there  was  one  unappeased.  The  woman  sat  the 
focus  of  three  pairs  of  hostile  eyes,  calm,  beautiful, 
unconscious  ;  the  air  might  be  thick  with  horrid  hate, 
she  never  guessed  that  even  one  shadow  had  fallen 
across  the  sun's  bright  beams.  But  one  man  had 
planted  himself  before  her;  he  did  not  know  how 
many  foes  he  must  fight,  he  did  not  know  their  plan 
of  battle,  but  if  sleepless  guardianship  and  devotion 
unto  death  can  save  her  he  will  do  it.  He  looks  up 
pitifully  at  her  face  averted  from  him  in  displeasure. 
Ah,  if  she  knew  she  would  give  him  strength  for  the 
conflict  by  a  kind  smile  at  least.  But  she  preferred 
to  watch  the  impatient  horses  pawing  the  earth 
beneath  their  feet,  and  Philip  turned  to  the  man  who 
had  touched  his  shoulder.  The  man  was  staring 
with  insolent  familiarity  at  Bertha,  as  if  he  had  a 
certain  right  of  property  in  her. 

*'  I  am    ready,"     said     Philip     fiercely,     "  come 

inside."     The  paymaster  called  his  name,  but  he  did 

not  listen  to  him.     He  waited  till  the  attorney,  Gid- 

dings,  passed  over  the  threshold  of  his  office,  then  he 

25 


386  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

locked  the  door  and  turned  on  him  h'ke  an  infuri- 
ated animal. 

''  Do  you  dare  look  so  at  my  wife  ?  Do  you 
think  she  is  like  the  low  creatures  you  associate 
with  ?" 

The  man's  face  grew  a  ghastly  yellow,  while  his 
eyes  tried  to  seek  out  some  safe  corner  in  the  room. 

'*  My  God,"  and  Philip  advanced  upon  the  law- 
yer's retreating  form  till  he  shrank  down  in  a  chair, 
and  winced  as  if  he  already  felt  the  threatening 
blow.  '*  I  would  kill  you  as  I  would  a  dog — "  He 
stopped,  and  the  mad  gleam  died  out  of  his  eyes. 
He  threw  himself  into  a  chair,  and  covered  his  face 
with  his  trembling  fingers.  ''  But  one  crime  in  a 
household  is  enough."  There  was  a  dead  silence  for 
a  moment,  then  the  lawyer,  seeing  he  was  out  of 
danger,  plucked  up  courage. 

"  That  was  the  very  thing  I  called  about." 
Philip  took  his  hands  from  his  face,  and  his  eyes 
seemed  to  Giddings  to  be  burning  their  way  deep 
down  into  his  contemptible  soul.  Then  he  look(yl 
at  the  man's  frayed  coat,  frayed  at  the  edges,  and  at 
his  torn  hat  that  he  kept  upon  his  knee,  and  the 
lawyer  twitched  uneasily  under  his  scrutiny. 

''  I  thought  I  was  done  with  you  forever,"  he  said 
with  a  bitter  smile  at  last,  "  wh^,  it  was  only  a  little 
time  ago — let  me  see — " 

"■  I  know  it,  I  know  it,  but  somehow  my  money 


EVIL  EYES.  387 

went  pretty  fast."  And  a  new  cunning  leer  came 
into  his  face.  He  was  beginning  to  feel  at  home, 
though  somehow,  he  could  not  look  his  victim  in  the 
eye  to-day.  "  But  there  is  a  new  point  I  have 
thought  of  since  I  saw  you."  He  tried  to  look  at 
him,  but  could  not  get  his  eyes  to  stay  any  higher 
than  Philip's  shoulder.  The  baptism  of  fire  he  had 
suffered,  had  given  a  certain  new  dignity  to  the 
young  man's  face,  that  cowed  his  visitor.  **  I  mean 
the  risk  I  run  ;  do  you  know  what  the  law  calls 
what  I  am  doing?"  Giddings  lowered  his  voice. to 
affect  a  frightened  whisper.  "■  It  is  compounding  of 
felony.  I  was  only  thinking  I  ought  to  be  paid  for 
my  risk." 

''  Let  me  see,"  said  Philip  in  stern  irony,  "  two 
hundred  dollars  for  keeping  your  secret — now  how 
much  for  the  risk?" 

"  Well,"  and  the  man  grinned  painfully,  "■  you 
might  make  it  up  to  an  even  five  hundred,  all  to- 
gether you  know,  to  include  everything,"  Giddings 
managed  to  raise  his  eyes,  for  an  instant,  to  Philip's 
face. 

"And  do  you  think  there  won't  be  any  more 
points?  You  know  I  can't  submit  to  be  bled  at  this 
rate." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  assure  you,  not  another  cent.  I  had 
to  pay  debts  with  the  first,  you  know,  and  buy 
clothes."     Philip  was  astonished  at   himself,  but  he 


388  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

really   had   heart  to   smile    as  he    looked  the  man 
over. 

"  Yes,  you  must  have  laid  out  the  greater  part 
of  it  on  clothes."  Giddings  pulled  his  chair  up  to 
the  table. 

*'  I  will  sign  anything  you  say."  Philip  had 
risen,  and  was  crossing  to  the  paymaster's  office. 
*'  Wait,"  insisted  the  lawyer,  "  I  will  write  an  agree- 
ment in  a  minute." 

''  Your  engagement,  eh  ?  No,  I  won't  trouble 
you."  He  stepped  into  the  paymaster's  room, 
''  Have  you  three  hundred  dollars  in  the  safe,  Mr. 
Smith?     Coupon  bonds  will  do.     Thank  you." 

''Will  you  step  in  here  as  soon  as  possible?** 
said  the  paymaster,  as  he  handed  him  the  bonds. 
"  There  is  a  very  important  mat — " 

"  Yes,  certainly.  Please  send  up  stairs  for  Bailes, 
I  want  to  see  him." 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  Bailes  and  Giddings 
passed  each  other. 

"  Good  morning,  Bailes,"  began  Philip,  without 
turning  his  face  to  his  discharged  servant.  "  I  sup- 
pose I  was  a  little  harsh  sending  you  away  as  I  did." 
He  spoke  hurriedly,  as  if  it  were  a  painful  task  he 
were  performing.  "  Let  this  make  it  up  to  you," 
and  the  mill-owner  threw  a  roll  of  bills  on  the  table 
much  as  a  man  would  throw  a  bone  to  a  dog,  though 
he  would  have  been  hearty  if  he  could  have  forced 


EVIL  EYES.  389' 

his  tongue  to  do  the  false  service.  The  man  took 
up  the  money  with  the  air  of  the  trained  waiter  tak- 
ing up  his  fee.  He  asked  no  questions,  he  ut- 
tered no  thanks.  He  understood.  Phihp  was  filled 
with  shame,  and  the  fellow's  silence  made  it  very 
hard  for  him. 

*'  If  you  are  faithful  to  me,"  Philip  looked  fixedly 
at  the  wall  over  the  rascal's  head,  "  I  may  be  able 
to  do  something  handsome  for  you." 

As  Philip  went  out  he  glanced  on  neither  side 
but  unhitched  his  horses  and  drove  off  as  if  a  pack 
of  wolves  were  behind  him.  He  never  dreamed  of 
cause  of  fear  from  the  pretty,  black-eyed  woman 
who  sat  on  the  seat  with  him,  who  was  amiable 
enough  to  keep  up  the  conversation  all  the  way 
home  in  spite  of  the  ungraciousness  of  the  others. 
After  Mrs.  EUingsworth  had  alighted  at  her  house 
Bertha  said,  in  a  displeased  tone, 

"  I  so  wanted  to  go  through  the  mill."  But  her 
husband  did  not  hear.  He  was  thinking  how  mighty 
his  gold  was.  It  had  purchased  them  four  weeks  of 
immunity,  four  weeks  of  honor  ;  it  was  their  honey- 
moon. It  surely  would  control  this  dangerous 
servant  since  it  had  worked  so  marvelously  with  the 
lawyer. 

*'  I  am  so  anxious  to  see  how  cloth  is  made,''  per- 
sisted Bertha,  never  losing  sight  of  her  object. 

To  be  sure  the  servant  had  had  personal  offence 


390  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

with  his  master,  he  might  not  unnaturally  cherish 
malice.  But  gold  is  a  sovereign  balm  for  wounded 
pride,  only  wouldn't  it  have  been  wiser  to  have  given 
him  more  since  he  gave  him  something?  He  must 
attend  to  the  matter  to-morrow.  Perhaps,  after  all 
there  might  be  some  hope  for  his  wife  and  for  him. 
How  glorious  it  was  to  be  rich  and  have  power  to 
save  her.  He  would  scatter  his  wealth  like  leaves 
in  autumn,  for  her  sake.  His  mill,  yes,  he  would 
even  sell  his  dear  old  mill,  and  pay  out  its  price  as 
the  price  of  one  year  after  another  of  respite,  till 
he  and  she  grew  so  poor  at  last  even  their  enemies 
and  tormentors  would  weep  for  them,  and  let  his 
beautiful  bride  lie  down  to  die  in  peace. 

"  You  really  must  take  me  through  the  mills  to- 
morrow." 

Philip  had  alighted  and  held  up  his  hands  to  help 
Bertha  to  the  ground.  She  held  back  a  moment 
with  a  new  pretty  coquettishness. 

"Will  you?"  she  said. 

He  had  not  even  heard  her  before.  He  smiled 
with  his  fine  rare  tenderness  as  he  answered  very 
gently,  "  Anything  you  like,  Bertha."  Then  he 
caught  her  into  his  arms. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Incautious  Drivim. 


%b 


GOOD  morning,  my  darling."  But  there  was  an- 
other letter  at  Philip  Breton's  breakfast  plate, 
and  the  old  look  of  dread  came  back  to  his  face — the 
dark  hollows  under  his  eyes  showed  again.  He  had 
forgotten  for  a  moment,  but  he  ought  never  to  for- 
get. How  could  he  tell  what  moment  he  would  be 
called  upon  to  strain  every  nerve  to  save  his  darling. 
He  tore  open  the  letter  in  uncontrollable  terror;  oh, 
it  was  only  from  Philbrick.  Had  Bertha  noticed  his 
excitement,  and  would  she  question  him  in  wifely 
concern?  He  had  so  much  to  guard  against.  But 
no,  her  graceful  arm  was  raised  to  pour  his  coffee, 
inclining  her  head  prettily  on  one  side,  as  women 
always  do  at  tea  and  coffee-pouring.  She  did  not 
watch  his  face  as  he  did  hers.  She  had  not  even 
noticed  the  change  that  had  come  over  him  of  late, 
that  shocked  every  casual  acquaintance  on  the  street. 
But  that  made  it  so  much  the  easier  for  him  to  keep 
the  secret  from  her;  he  told  himself  he  ought  to  be 
thankful  for  it,  instead  of  ever  permitting  his  foolish 


392  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

heart  to  ache.  He  ran  his  eyes  rapidly  over  the  let- 
ter his  white-haired  friend  had  sent  him. 

'*  I  suppose  it  is  paper  thrown  away,  but  I  want 
to  remind  you  once  more  of  my  offer,  to  take  your 
mill  off  your  hands.  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
try  my  scheme  somewhere.  I  am  old  and  feel  as  if 
I  would  like  to  do  something  for  my  race  with  my 
money,  which  I  have  now  well  in  hand.  Will  you 
let  me  have  your  mills  for  what  I  have  got?  If  not 
I  shall  try  elsewhere.  The  reason  I  want  your  mills 
is  because  I  propose  to  give  you  a  chance  to  take 
part  in  my  beautiful  industrial  plan.  I  will  pay  you 
one-third  its  valuation,  one-third  you  shall  keep  at 
four  per  cent  interest  till  we  can  buy  that  in  also,  the 
other  third  I  am  going  to  let  you  give  in  trust  for  the 
benefit  of  the  help  as  my  discretion  shall  dictate. 
This  is  a  glorious  opportunity,  but  I  suppose  I  am 
wild  to  expect  you  to  take  it,  only  that  I  have  read 
in  the  newspapers  of  growing  discontent  among  your 
help.  Various  reasons  are  given  for  it ;  my  explana- 
tion is  that  a  little  leaven  leaveneth  the  whole  lump. 
If  you  were  working  to  stop  complaints,  you  should 
not  have  begun  your  reforms.  You  may  happen  to 
see  things  as  I  do,  and  be  willing  to  let  me  try  where 
you  have  failed.  If  so  telegraph  me  at  once  and  I 
will  come. 

Philip  folded  the  letter  thoughtfully  and  put  it 
back  in  its  envelop.     No,  he  was  not  ready  for  that 


INC  A  UTIO  US  DRI VING.  393 

yet.  But  he  did  not  smile.  If  it  should  ever  happen 
that  he  be  called  upon  to  sacrifice  everything  to  save 
his  wife — but  Philbrick  required  that  he  accept  at 
once.     No  he  was  not  ready  yet. 

"  Oh !  "  said  his  wife  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had 
struck  her,  "  do  you  remember  your  promise,  you  are 
to  take  me  through  the  mills  to-day?  " 

''  Did  I  promise  that  ?  "  He  put  back  his  coffee 
cup  untasted. 

*'  Certainly,  Philip,  and  I  cannot  let  you  off." 

"  But  you  must."  His  face  grew  dark  at  the 
thought  that  she  should  put  at  naught  all  his  care- 
ful plans  to  secure  her  present  safety.  Bertha  pushed 
back  her  chair  and  rising  angrily  to  her  feet,  swept 
from  the  room  without  another  word.  Philip  tried 
in  vain  to  swallow  the  mouthfuls  of  food  he  so  much 
needed,  then  he  started  on  foot  for  the  mill. 

That  Bertha  should  be  angry  with  him  seemed 
the  last  intolerable  blow ;  was  he  not  bearing  enough 
before?  He  had  made  her  unhappy,  perhaps  she 
was  weeping  hot  tears  of  impatience  now  ;  she  had 
thought  he  loved  her  enough  to  grant  her  every 
wish  that  might  cross  her  heart.  Philip  was  tempted 
to  go  back  and  explain  everything,  then  she  would 
not  doubt  his  love,  but  she  would  have  to  share  his 
agony  with  him ;  it  were  better  to  bear  his  burdens 
alone  even  to  this  last  burden  of  her  unmerited  re- 
proach.    His  sympathy  for  her  grew  stronger  than 


394  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

his  consciousness  of  his  own  unhappiness.  Of  course 
she  would  be  hurt  that  he  had  denied  her  anything; 
\i  it  had  been  a  ribbon,  it  would  have  been  the  same. 
He  was  to  blame  for  letting  her  leave  him  in  vexa- 
tion, he  should  have  forgot  his  own  grievances,  and 
soothed  her  with  gentle  words  till  she  smiled  on  him. 
It  was  not  because  she  wanted  the  thing  so  much,  but 
it  was  the  first  time  he  had  ever  crossed  her  wishes. 

Philip  was  so  absorbed  in  his  thoughts  that  he 
did  not  observe  that  he  was  close  upon  an  excited 
crowd  of  village  people,  till  such  words  as  these  fell 
upon  his  ear  : 

*'  A  noice  friend  of  the  poor  man  he  be,  with  his 
four  fancy  bosses,  his  silver  dishes  to  eat  his  vict- 
uals off  of,  and  his  house  like  a  king's  palace,  while 
we  lives  and  dies  in  dirt  and  poverty.  Who  made 
him  better  nor  us?  do  he  work  harder?  do  he  sleep 
less  ?  No,  but  he  have  his  venison  and  his  game 
dinners,  while  us  starves  on  tea  and  crackers  ;  he 
sprawls  on  his  fine  cushions,  and  sleeps  in  his  soft 
beds,  while  we  rots  in  close  attics,  and  loafs  in  dirty 
saloons,  the  poor  man's  only  home.  What  title 
have  he  got  to  have  better  than  we,  and  give  him- 
self airs  over  us  ?'' 

Philip  was  astonished.  The  man  who  stood  on 
the  steps  of  one  of  the  tenement  houses,  instructing 
an  audience  extending  quite  across  the  highway, 
was  no  other  than  the  incendiary  who  had  so  nearly 


INCA  UTIO  US  DRI VING.  395 

caused  the  ruin  of  the  Breton  Mills  the  night  of  the 
great  fire.  The  fellow's  hair  was  cropped  as  close  to 
his  bullet  head  as  it  was  then. 

The  audience  was  mostly  made  up  of  old  men, 
women,  and  children,  with  here  and  there  an  able- 
bodied  man,  who  preferred  talking  about  his  rights 
to  deserving  anything.  One  or  two  had  observed 
the  young  mill-owner,  but  they  took  no  pains  to 
spread  the  intelligence,  and  in  a  moment  more  the 
agitator  had  caught  his  breath  and  went  on. 

"^  "  He  feeds  his  bosses  more'n  would  keep  two 
poor  families.  The  wines  he  drinks  every  day  cost 
enough  to  keep  another  two." 

Perhaps  the  man  was  right  in  his  tirade.    Perhaps 
Philip  Breton  had  only  begun  to  grasp  the  first  out- 
lines of  the  great  question  he  had  fancied  mastered. 
"  But  ye  kiss  his  hand." 

"  No  we  won't,"  shouted  the  crowd.  There 
stood  Thomas  Bailes,  PhiUp's  discharged  servant,  in 
the  middle  of  the  street,  shouting  with  the  rest.  He 
could  afford  to  be  idle  since  his  liberal  present. 

"  Ye  will  thank  him  for  his  bein'  so  kind  to  ye." 
*'  No,  no,"  screamed  the  women.  What  a  fool 
Philip  Breton  had  been  to  count  on  gratitude.  Hu- 
man nature  is  too  progressive  to  be  grateful.  Per- 
haps he  deserved  no  thanks.  He  had  done  more 
than  others  for  his  help— the  more  fool  he  was, 
all  sides  would  agree,  unless  he  went  further.     He 


39^  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

ought  to  have  been  either  a  thorough  radical,  or  a 
thorough  conservative.  All  parties  abuse  the  half- 
way reformer,  a  vessel  of  pottery  between  two  jars 
of  iron,  he  is  certain  to  be  crushed. 

A  carriage  was  struggling  down  the  street. 
How  slow  the  crowd  were  to  give  way  ;  they  were 
so  much  interested  in  their  orator,  they  did  not  no- 
tice they  were  obstructing  the  highway. 

'■'■  What  good  is  such  men  as  him  ?  our  women 
is  stronger  than  them  sort.'' 

That  horse  seemed  spirited,  or  else  not  properly 
guided.  Ah,  the  driver  ought  not  to  use  a  whip  in 
such  a  situation  as  this.  Good  heavens  !  the  horse 
had  become  unmanageable.  A  man,  it  was  Bailes 
himself,  and  a  woman  had  been  struck  by  the  shafts 
and  rolled  under  the  feet  of  the  horse,  who  was  now 
rearing  and  plunging,  while  the  crowd  scattered  in 
all  directions  with  screams  and  curses. 

Under  the  very  wheels  of  the  carriage  lay  a 
woman  stunned  and  helpless  from  the  blow  she  had 
received.  Instant  death  threatened  her,  when  a 
man's  form  rose  suddenly  out  of  the  dust  under  the 
horse's  iron  shoes  and  caught  the  excited  animal  by 
his  bit.  The  crowd  gathered  in  more  closely  than 
ever,  while  a  dozen  hands  dragged  out  the  old 
woman  from  her  terrible  situation,  and  wiped  the 
dust  from  her  white  ghastly  face.  The  orator  had 
ceased  his  eloquence,  and  all  danger    of    accident 


INC  A  UTIO  US  DRI VING.  397 

seemed  now  averted,  so  Philip  Breton  was  passing 
on  his  way. 

But  Bertha,  for  the  occupant  of  the  carriage  was 
no  other  than  she,  found  her  way  blocked  in  all  direc- 
tions by  an  angry  mob. 

*'  Pull  her  out,  scarlet  face,"  screamed  the  women. 
"  Tear  her  pretty  rags  off  from  her."  The  bare- 
footed children  threw  earth  at  her ;  lean,  dirty  fin- 
gers plucked  at  her  delicate  skirts.  How  dared  they 
touch  her  !  she  shrank  from  the  pollution  of  contact 
with  such  creatures  as  these,  with  a  terror  that  would 
be  inconceivable  to  a  man.  She  saw  them  gather 
around  the  restive  horse,  who  seemed  as  impatient 
of  their  touch  as  she  ;  they  were  beginning  to  undo 
his  harness.  In  another  moment  she  would  be  lost. 
But  the  horse  was  strong,  could  he  not  break  through 
them?  She  did  not  care  how  many  he  should 
trample  to  death  ;  she  would  rather,  a  thousand 
times  rather,  die  herself,  than  endure  their  insulting 
touch.  But  a  rough  hand  caught  the  whip  from 
her  grasp;  the  creature's  unpared  nails  hurt  her; 
another  hand  was  on  her  shoulders  ;  and  vile  words, 
whose  meaning  she  only  felt,  were  on  every  tongue. 
Her  heart  grew  sick  ;  oh,  God  would  not  let  her 
faint ;  oh,  not  now  ;  oh,  not  now  ; — but  her  vision 
seemed  failing,  she  could  not  see  to  the  horse's 
head,  and  the  terrible  insults  the  people  hurled  at 
her  grew  indistinct,  like  a  roaring  of  many  waters  in 


398  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

her  ears.  But  she  saw  a  hideous-faced  hag  reach 
her  bare  brawny  arm  into  the  carriage  and  clutch  at 
her  feet ;  they  were  lifting  her  out.  But  a  hand  like 
iron  flung  the  virago  back. 

"  Stand  off.  It  is  my  Avife  !  "  The  mill-owner's 
wife  The  crowd  fell  back  for  a  moment,  as  if  it 
was  news  to  them  ;  but  Philip  knew  by  instinct,  the 
lull  would  only  last  for  a  moment.  He  must  make 
the  most  of  it.  He  had  only  time  to  refasten  a 
little  of  the  harness,  when  a  sharp  stone  struck  him 
on  the  cheek  and  drcAv  blood. 

"  How  many  husbands  can  a  woman  have  ? " 
screamed  a  woman  on  the  sidewalk. 

"  Jail's  the  place  for  her,"  growled  a  man  at  his 
shoulder.     Then  the  crowd  closed  in  again. 

*'  Let  go  the  bit,"  demanded  Philip,  never  quail- 
ing. But  Bailes  only  grinned  at  him,  as  Philip  had 
seen  him  before,  and  tightened  his  hold  on  the  horse. 

"■  You're  too  small  to  give  orders  ;  I  aint  in  your 
pay  now."  But  before  the  fellow  had  time  to  put 
up  a  guard,  his  young  master  had  struck  him  a  blow 
in  the  face  that  fairly  staggered  him,  large  man  as 
he  was. 

**  Oh,  that's  your  game,  is  it?  Make  way,  boys, 
all  I  want  is  room.     I'll  finish  him  up  quick." 

The  man  wanted  to  make  use  of  his  weight  and 
strength  in  the  directest  way  possible,  so  he  rushed 
forward  to  close  with  his  antagonist,  throwing  up  his 


INC  A  U  no  us  DRI VING.  3  99 

hands  to  protect  himself.  But  he  miscalculated  and 
his  cheek  bone  fairly  cracked  with  the  force  of  the 
second  blow.  Bailes  drew  back  for  another  attack ; 
the  smile  of  contempt  was  gone  from  his  bruised 
and  bleeding  face,  but  a  very  dangerous  look  was  in 
his  eyes.  His  young  master  had  lost  his  first  pale- 
ness, a  bright  red  spot  burned  in  each  cheek  and  his 
black  eyes  flashed  forth  defiance.  The  discharged 
servant  ducked  his  head  and  came  at  Philip  like  a 
maddened  ox.  The  crowd  held  their  breath ;  the 
slight  form  of  the  master  would  go  down,  and  the 
victor  would  pound  his  young  life  out  of  him.  Was 
the  lad  crazy  to  invite  a  battle  with  a  man  of  almost 
twice  his  weight  ?  The  young  man  did  not  flinch  a 
hair's  breadth.  He  raised  his  arm  again.  What 
good  of  battering  against  the  fellow's  thick  skull  ? 
He  was  upon  him — no,  Philip  had  leaped  aside  at  the 
last  moment,  and,  as  Bailes  went  past,  had  dealt 
him  a  blow  in  the  temple  that  sent  his  great  form 
reeling  to  the  ground. 

Before  the  crowd  had  time  to  move  Philip  had 
leaped  into  the  carriage  and  caught  the  reins  from 
his  fainting  wife.  He  turned  his  horse  into  an  open 
space  and  the  half  fastened  harness  let  the  carriage 
run  against  the  animal's  legs.  It  was  better  than  a 
thousand  whips,  and  he  broke  into  a  wild  gallop. 
Bailes  had  only  time  to  get  his  feet  and  shout  after 
the  young  mill-owner, 


400  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  This  is  only  the  first  round." 

PhiHp  heard  his  words  and  muttered  to  himself, 
''  I  ought  to  have  killed  him,  since  1  had  to  beat 
him  ;  there  isn't  gold  enough  in  California  to  buy 
him  over  now." 

**  What  did  they  mean,  Philip?''  Bertha  was 
lying  on  the  sofa  in  her  own  little  blue  room. 
Philip  had  put  a  pillow  beneath  her  tired  head  and 
was  kneeling  by  her  side  watching  for  the  color  to 
come  back  to  her  frightened  cheeks. 

''Thank  God  she  did  not  know,  not  yet.'' 

He  looked  down  at  the  veins  in  her  pretty  hands  ; 
how  many  there  were  to-day. 

**  It  was  only  their  senseless  jargon.  They  are 
angry  with  me  you  know.  Do  not  think  about  it 
again." 

She  opened  her  great  blue  eyes  on  him.  She 
was  going  to  thank  him  no  doubt  for  her  rescue  out 
of  the  terrible  peril. 

**  You  look  so  small  and  weak.  I  wouldn't  have 
thought  you  had  any  strength."  That  was  all  she 
had  for  him. 


CHAPTER    XXXII. 

Ink. 

T)HILIP  left  his  wife  to  fall   asleep  if  she   could, 
J-      and  made  his  way  to  his  study  where  he  and 
his  father  before  him  had  fought  out  so  many  bat- 
tles.    His  secret  was  out.     The  poHce  might  be  at 
his  door  that  very  night  to  claim  his  bride  back  from 
him.     He  had  beaten  one  man  for  her,  but  he  could 
not  defend  her  against  the  force  they  would  bring 
against  him.     The  air  of  his  little  village  had  grown 
close  and  suffocating.     How  long  would  it  be  before 
the  storm  would  burst.     He  tried  to  calm  himself 
and  calculate  how  much  time  his  crowding  destiny 
would  give  him.     He  was  rich  and  powerful  and  had 
many  friends,  and  nothing  that  could  happen  to  his 
wife    could    make    him    less    formidable,  though    it 
might  break  his   heart.     There   was   not   a   soul   in 
Bretonville  but  had  something  to  hope  of  his  favor, 
or  to  fear  from  his  displeasure.     He  could  shut  up 
his  mills  and  the  village  would  become  a  desert ;  he 
could  lower  wages  and  send  starvation  knocking  at 
every  door.     And  there  was  not  one  creature  in  the 
village  but  knew  his  power.      He  had  not  used  it  to 
25 


402  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

harm  them  yet,  but  would  a  man  not  forget  mercy 
in  defending  his  own  home?  And  then  what  did 
they  know,  after  all,  even  the  mob  that  had  insulted 
his  wife?  They  might  suspect,  but  suspicion  was 
not  enough  to  give  them  courage  to  assail  all  the 
bulwarks  of  wealth  and  respectabiUty  about  such  a 
home  as  Philip  Breton's.  Even  the  discharged 
servant,  Thomas  Bailes,  did  not  hold  the  trump 
card  in  this  terrible  game  of  life  and  death.  No  one 
held  it  but  Giddings  the  lawyer  and  he  was  provided 
for  as  yet. 

Philip  paused  before  the  window.  There  could 
be  no  vital  danger  yet.  It  would  take  time.  His 
enemies  were  on  the  right  track  but  there  were 
blind  windings  in  it  that  would  hinder  the  scent. 
Hinder  it,  but  at  last  what?  His  mills  seemed  to 
hold  him  in  bondage.  His  life  work  was  here  where 
the  danger  was.  He  was  to  show  the  world  what 
an  employer  ought  concede  to  his  workmen.  He 
was  to  set  a  bright  example  to  soften  the  rigor  of 
his  class.  Could  he  forsake  his  glorious  work  ?  To 
be  sure  his  workmen  were  proving  themselves  un- 
grateful, and  murmured  louder  against  him  to-day 
than  ever  against  his  father.  They  had  taken  their 
children  away  from  the  schools  to  spite  him,  though 
he  would  not  suffer  their  little  bodies  to  be  tortured 
in  the  mills  any  more.  His  cost  stores  were  well 
nigh  deserted  and  the  provisions   spoiling   on   the 


INK,  403 

shelves,  to  punish  him,  it  seemed,  for  ever  trying  to 
be  kind  to  them.  They  begrudged  him  his  luxuries, 
as  if  it  were  their  money  that  bought  them.  There 
were  no  more  smiles  and  hearty  words  for  him  from 
the  poor  he  had  done  the  best  he  knew  for,  and  all 
the  manufacturers  around  were  laughing  at  his  fail- 
ure, they  called  it. 

But  a  look  of  determination  came  over  the  young 
man's  pale  face.  He  believed  he  could  plant  his  feet 
like  the  rock  and  wear  out  their  impatience.  The 
violence  of  his  people  should  not  make  him  tremble. 
He  was  their  friend  and  they  would  come  to  believe 
it.  He  had  not  done  all  they  wished,  but  he  could 
not  see  any  farther,  and  he  would  take  no  step 
blindly  because  of  reproaches.  If  he  was  not  right 
he  was  nearer  right  than  thousands  of  his  class. 
By-and-by  their  turbulence  would  subside,  when  it 
could  not  stir  him,  and  his  measures  would  have 
time  to  bring  forth  their  certain  fruit  of  smiles  and 
prosperity.  New  blocks  of  mills  would  stretch  away 
in  all  directions,  and  the  homes  of  his  working  people 
would  dot  with  happy  cottages  all  the  hills  and  val- 
leys near. 

But  Bertha.  Did  he  love  his  mills  or  her  the 
more  ?  She  must  not  even  guess  her  own  terrible 
story  or  her  life  would  be  clouded  like  his.  But  the 
air  of  the  village  would  soon  be  trembling  with  the 
news  and  the  hand  of  pitiless  justice  would  be  laid 


404  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

upon  her.  And  should  he  wait  for  it?  God  had 
granted  him  one  week  of  peace,  and  n.ow  this  month 
for  warning.  Was  not  the  world  large  ?  Were  there 
not  high  mountains  and  unpeopled  deserts  where 
they  could  be  safe,  where  he  could  hide  his  darling 
from  insulting  looks  and  words,  where  no  prison 
cells  gaped  open  for  her? 

A  sudden  great  light  broke  over  Philip's  face  as 
he  walked  his  little  study  with  rapid  turns.  He 
could  save  her.  The  plan  unfolded  itself  in  his 
mind.  He  could  save  her.  There  was  yet  time  if 
he  were  quick.  He  must  give  up  his  great  plan  for 
his  workmen  ;  he  must  sell  his  mill,  but  he  could 
yet  save  his  wife  if  she  were  willing.  But  she  might 
refuse  to  go.  Philip  hurried  to  the  room  where  he 
had  left  her  and  opened  the  door  so  suddenly  that 
she  started  up  in  terror.  Her  nerves  were  so  shaken 
that  day,  poor  girl. 

"•  Bertha,  my  love,"  he  said  breathlessly,  "  How 
would  you  like  a  trip  to  Europe?" 

"  You  are  joking,  Philip."  Was  it  eagerness  or 
aversion  in  her  eyes  ?  he  felt  afraid  to  look  and  see. 
W^hat  resource  was  left  if  she  would  not  go?  *'  How 
can  you  leave  your  business?  " 

There  was  an  inflection  in  her  voice,  that  made 
him  glance  quickly  at  her  face.  The  coldest  women 
have  their  enthusiasms  ;  he  had  touched  on  hers  ;  he 
hardly  knew  her,  her  face  had  such  a  new  vitality  in  it. 


INK.  405 

"  And  would  you  really  like  It  so  much  ?  "  he 
said,  with  his  deep  tenderness,  that  had  a  touch  of 
reproach  in  it  she  was  too  dull  ever  to  take.  He 
came  up  to  her,  and  explained  what  charming  routes 
they  should  take,  and  what  lovely  lands  they  should 
see.  Not  France  and  Italy  and  the  banks  of  the 
Rhine  alone,  but  even  Egypt  and  the  far  East,  not 
a  spot  of  beauty  in  the  whole  far-off  world,  but  they 
would  enjoy  it. 

A  flush  was  on  Bertha's  cheeks,  at  last,  and  her 
eyes  shone  like  a  young  girl's  while  a  lover  whispers 
the  first  romance  into  her  ears.  And  Philip  sat  by 
her  side  only  too  happy  to  see  her  smile,  and  to  touch 
her  golden  braids  of  hair. 

It  was  after  the  table  in  Mrs.  Ginness'  factory 
boarding  house  had  been  set  for  next  morning's 
breakfast,  which  was  soon  after  tea  this  same  day,  that 
one  of  the  boarders  came  into  the  dining-room  and 
cleared  away  the  dishes  in  front  of  him  to  write  a 
letter.  It  was  not  a  very  highly  ornamented  room, 
but  everything  was  painfully  clean,  that  is  remind- 
ing one  painfully  of  the  aching  arms  of  some  poor 
woman,  everything  but  the  table-cloth,  and  certainly 
no  one  ever  saw  a  clean  table-cloth  in  a  factory 
boarding  house.  Clean  linen  is  one  of  the  most  ex- 
clusive luxuries  of  the  rich,  the  industrious  poor  may 
achieve  shining  floors,  and  glistening  faces,  but  spot- 
less linen  is  quite  beyond  them.     But  it  made  very 


406  THE  BRETON  MILLS, 

little  difference  to  this  man  to-night,  for  his  eyes 
were  swollen  so  that  discriminating  vision  was  out  of 
the  question.  He  spread  his  paper  before  him,  and 
after  uncorking  his  ink  bottle,  made  two  or  three 
abortive  attempts  to  dip  his  pen.  Then  Bailes,  for  it 
was  he,  looked  around  to  see  if  anybody  was  laugh- 
ing at  him.  But  the  room  was  empty,  all  but  a 
French  girl  and  her  lover  in  one  corner,  who  were 
quite  too  much  taken  up  with  each  other  to  take 
notice  of  anybody  else.  Then  he  tried  again,  and 
this  time  inked  not  alone  the  pen  and  half  the  length 
of  the  holder,  but  the  palm  of  his  hand  in  addition, 
and  as  a  natural  but  apparently  not  foreseen  conse- 
quence, that  portion  of  the  table-cloth  within  his 
reach.  If  it  had  been  much  that  Bailes  had  cared  to 
say,  he  probably  would  have  given  it  up  in  despair, 
but  it  was  only  two  lines,  and  even  a  blind  man  could 
write  two  lines,  if  he  had  a  whole  sheet  of  paper  for 
leeway.       The  two  lines  Bailes  wrote  were  these. 

"  Curran.     You  are  wanted  here  at  once !       A 
friend/' 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


Too   Late. 


IT  was  the  afternoon  of  the  Wednesday  that  the 
steamer  *'  Salvator "  was  to  sail.  But  Philip 
Breton  and  the  woman  he  had  hoped  to  save,  were 
yet  in  their  house  in  Bretonville,  hundreds  of  miles 
from  the  pier.  The  clock  in  Bertha's  drawing-room 
had  struck  three.  It  was  the  very  hour;  the  last 
bell  must  be  ringing  now,  and  friends  were  saying 
their  farewell  words,  handkerchiefs  were  waving 
graceful  adieux,  with  here  and  there  a  teardrop. 
Home  seemed  very  sweet  at  this  moment  of  separa- 
tion, and  dreams  of  joys  in  strange  lands  seemed  too 
vague  to  comfort  many  a  heart  that  had  been  light 
and  merry  till  now. 

Philip  had  not  slept  these  two  nights  for  anx- 
iety. The  very  air  had  seemed  so  full  of  danger,  he 
had  feared  the  storm  would  burst  upon  them  before 
to-day.  New  haggard  lines  had  come  into  his  face. 
He  had  watched  all  the  countenances  of  the  villagers 
for  signs  and  warnings  ;  would  his  enemies  give  him 
time  ?  Well,  they  had  given  him  time,  and  yet  he 
waited. 


408  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

He  had  driven  to  every  train  for  his  old  friend 
Philbrick,  but  he  had  failed  him.  He  had  strained 
his  blood-shot  eyes  so  eagerly  last  night  to  make 
him  out  of  the  solitary  arrival  on  the  evening  train. 
If  the  old  man  had  known  how  much  depended  on 
him,  he  would  surely  have  hastened.  Philip  dared 
not  trust  his  mills  in  any  hands  but  his.  The  old 
man  would  be  gentle  with  his  charge  ;  he  was  pa- 
tient, he  had  broader  ideas  than  Philip  Breton,  he 
was  less  of  an  aristocrat.  And  his  mills  were  very 
dear  to  Philip — only  less  dear  than  his  wife.  Per- 
haps the  old  man  might  come  yet,  before  the  next 
steamer  sailed,  but  there  were  three  long  days  for 
his  terrible  secret  to  work  its  way  to  the  light — 
three  long  dark  nights  for  a  blow  to  fall. 

Philip  found  Bertha  in  the  drawing-room,  wait- 
ing for  him.  She  had  not  understood  the  delay,  but 
never  suspected  that  the  steamer  had  sailed.  The 
excitement  that  flushed  her  face,  seemed  to  have 
smoothed  out  the  lines  of  care,  her  eyes  were 
brighter  than  love  for  him  had  ever  made  them. 
She  seemed  grown  young  as  the  first  day  in  the  gar- 
den she  had  fallen  asleep  on  his  shoulder.  How  the 
poor  girl  longed  to  go.  He  stood  a  moment  before 
her,  and  love  and  sorrow  swept  over  his  soul  in 
alternate  waves.  She  was  his  beautiful  wife,  who 
looked  to  him  for  her  only  protection.  And  out  of 
pity  for  the  mob  that  had  insulted  her,  he  had  let 


TOO  LATE.  409 

slip,  perhaps,  his  last  hope  of  saving  her.  What  did 
the  wretches  deserve  ?  and  he  had  sacrificed  his  wife 
to  them.  He  had  made  those  sweet  eager  eyes 
weep  forever ;  that  queenly  gold-crowned  head 
must  bow  in  humiliation.  How  the  world  would 
wonder  that  he  had  not  saved  her  from  a  felon's 
cell,  with  such  wealth  and  power  as  his  to  command. 
He  had  risked  her  salvation  to  soften  the  fate  of  the 
thousand  ungrateful  creatures  in  his  mill  who  cared 
nothing  for,  him. 

"  Oh,  Bertha,  forgive  me  !  "  he  cried  as  if  his 
heart  broke  that  moment.  All  his  hope  seemed 
dead  then  ;  the  waters  of  desolation  were  sweeping 
in  ceaseless  swelling  waves  over  his  soul. 

For  a  moment  the  woman  looked  at  him  in 
silence,  trying  to  interpret  for  herself  the  mean- 
ing on  his  wan,  passion-marked  face.  It  was  for 
him  the  supreme  moment  of  an  agony  such  a 
soul  as  hers  could  not  even  conceive  of.  The 
man  suffered  more  in  that  moment,  than  the  foul- 
est dungeon  in  the  world,  or  the  scoffs  of  a  city 
rabble,  or  the  contempt  of  every  woman  that 
ever  spoke  her  name  could  hurt  her.  Then  she 
drew  herself  back  from  him  ;  she  thought,  poor 
creature,  she  understood  the  expression  on  his 
face. 

''Then  you  have  missed  the  steamer,  and  you 
knew,  too,  how  much  I  wanted  to  go."      He  did  not 


4 1 0  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

speak,  but  a  pitiful  look  of  confusion  was  struggling 
into  his  face. 

"  When  can  we  go,  then  ?  "  she  asked  coldly. 

'*  The  next  steamer  sails  Saturday."  Saturday  ! 
Poor  girl,  poor  Bertha  !  the  furies  are  folding  their 
black  wings  this  instant  to  settle  about  her  soul. 
She  only  thought  it  was  her  pleasure  trip  was  de- 
ferred, it  was  his  plan  to  save  her  from  impending 
ruin — failed.  One  of  the  ministers  of  evil  was  at  the 
gate  this  moment — now  at  the  door — in  the  hall. 
Then  the  servant  announced  a  name,  and  Mrs.  Ell- 
ingsworth  stepped  into  the  room. 

She  had  been  smiling  her  best,  but  every  smile 
vanished  at  sight  of  the  shawls  and  traveling  bags. 
She  looked  sharply  at  Bertha,  who  was  dressed 
in  her  blue  traveling  suit ;  her  hat  was  on  the  sofa 
beside  her.  She  glanced  about  the  room ;  the 
chintz  covers  were  over  the  damask  upholstery ; 
the  piano  was  closed  and  packed.  Bertha  looked 
listlessly  at  her. 

"  Oh,  won't  you  sit  down."  But  this  strange 
visitor  stood  as  if  rooted  to  her  place, 

"  You  are  going  away  ?  "  Philip  turned  a  sur- 
prised glance  at  her,  the  tone  she  assumed  was 
crisp  and  imperious.  He  saw  the  dangerous  look 
come  into  the  dark  brilliant  eyes,  which  forgot  their 
dissembling  for  the  moment.  The  woman  knew 
everything.      In    some    way   she   had    learned    the 


TOO  LATE,  411 

secret.  Would  she  dare  denounce  his  wife  before 
him  ?  Was  he  so  poor  a  man  a  woman  like  this 
dared  to  beard  him  ?  He  did  not  speak.  Her  mes- 
sage of  scorn  and  infamy  would  come  in  a  moment, 
she  would  tear  down  the  veil  he  had  spread  before 
his  wife's  crime ;  he  saw  her  red  lips  fairly  trembling 
with  the  bitter  words.  Then  Philip  looked  at  her  no 
more,  but  his  eyes  rested  pityingly  on  Bertha.  How 
would  she  meet  it?  would  she  flush  into  rare  pas- 
sion ?  would  she  turn  pale  and  faint  in  overpowering 
shame  ? 

**  Yes,  we  were  going  to  Europe,"  answered  Ber- 
tha, utterly  unconscious  of  the  hate  that  glowered  at 
her  out  of  the  flashing  eyes.  "  Philip  did  not  want 
me  to  speak  of  it  or  I  should  have  told  you  before  ; 
but  I  suppose  it  don't  make  any  difference  now, 
since  we've  lost  the  steamer.  It  left  the  pier  an 
hour  ago.  So  we  are  not  going  now  till  Saturday. 
Isn't  that  it,  Philip  dear  ?  Why,  you  don't  mind  my 
telling  Jane  ?  "  It  was  Bertha's  own  words,  then, 
that  had  decided  her  fate.  There  had  been  some 
hope  before,  Philip  now  remembered  ;  but  at  last  her 
deadliest  enemy  knew  everything.  The  mine  would 
be  sprung  before  to-morrow's  sun  had  set.  He  could 
see  it  in  the  sudden  triumphant  gleam  in  the  woman's 
eyes  before  she  thought  to  smile.  But  Bertha  was 
the  only  one  who  could  talk,  just  yet. 

•*  Won't  you   lend   me  a  few  things,  to  get  me 


412  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

over  a  few  days,  everything  is  packed  up,  and  our 
baggage  on  the  way,  you  know  ?  "  and  Bertha  went 
on  to  explain  in  detail  her  ludicrous  necessities. 
"  To-morrow  will  do." 

''  Certainly,  I  only  wish  you  had  let  me  help  you 
get  ready."  But  her  light  laugh  could  not  deceive 
Philip  again ;  only  it  was  too  late  now  to  guard 
against  her.  ''  I  will  run  right  home  and  get  the 
things  you  spoke  of  ready  for  to-morrow." 

Yes,  and  there  were  some  other  things  she  had 
not  spoken  of,  Jane  EUingsworth  would  have  ready 
for  to-morrow,  too. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

The  Last  Straw. 

"  A70U  are  too  late,  my  friend."     Philip  had  been 

X  sitting  in  his  study  in  the  darkness  which  was 
not  more  black  than  his  life.  But  he  arose  to  give 
his  cold  hand  to  Mr.  Philbrick,  who  had  come  at  last. 

"Why  too  late?  This  is  only  Wednesday.  Have 
you  changed  your  mind  ?  I  did  not  suppose  there 
was  so  much  hurry,  and  I  wanted  to  have  everything 
ready." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  answered  Philip  gloomily.  What 
use  to  tell  the  old  gentleman  that  Philip  Breton's 
wife  was  a  criminal  before  the  law,  that  the  transfer 
of  the  mill  property  was  only  a  part  of  his  scheme  to 
save  her  from  an  infamous  penalty,  that  their  deadli- 
est enemy  knew  all  their  plans  now,  and  no  doubt 
her  sleepless  eyes  watched  their  every  movement, 
lest  they  should  escape  her  hate. 

The  servant  came  to  the  door,  "  I  suppose  you 
will  have  lights,  sir.  Some  men  from  the  mill  folks 
want  to  see  you." 

**  Oh  yes,  show  them  in,"  he  said  carelessly. 

There  were  not  chairs  enough  for  the  four  work- 


4 1 4  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

men  who  came  stumbling  in  like  pall  bearers  at  a 
country  funeral,  but  Philip  did  not  even  seem  to  look 
at  them.  One  took  his  place  by  the  window,  and 
soiled  the  curtain  with  his  hands  ;  another,  apparently 
the  spokesman,  disdained  to  lean  against  anything, 
but  stood  stock  still  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  bent 
forward  a  little  in  an  attitude  borrowed  from  the 
prize  ring.  His  feet  were  planted  well  apart,  and  his 
arms  bowed  out  at  the  elbows. 

*'  I  suppose  you  have  some  complaints  to  make," 
said  the  young  mill-owner,  with  a  gentleness  of  tone 
that  was  quite  misunderstood  by  the  delegation,  who 
immediately  tried  to  look  very  fierce. 

''  Ye're  right  sir,"  answered  the  man  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  room.  '*Ye  know  yerself,  ye  aint  doin' 
the  right  thing  by  us." 

Philip  did  not  speak  for  a  moment,  and  Mr.  Phil- 
brick  would  have  thought  he  had  not  heard  the  fel- 
low, only  for  a  little  twitching  at  the  corners  of  his 
mouth.  Apparently  the  young  man  was  deeply  hurt 
by  his  failure  to  satisfy  his  men. 

"  I  have  done  the  best  I  knew." 

"  Wal,  we  kin  tell  yer,  if  ye  don't  know  no  bet- 
ter," resumed  the  workman  insolently.  Philip's  eyes 
flashed  at  him,  then  dropped  to  the  carpet  again. 
*'  Pay  us  more  wages  for  one  thing,  shorten  up  our 
hours  for  another." 

*'  You  fare  better  than  others.  I  divide  the  profits 


THE  LAST  STRA  W.  4I  5 

with  you.  You  thought  I  was  very  good  to  you 
once."  The  young  man's  tone  was  not  argumenta- 
tive, it  was  too  hopeless  for  that. 

"  Yer  don't  divy  even  ;  our  share  don't  'mount  to 
nothin',"  put  in  the  man  who  was  soiiin^g  the  window 
curtain. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  but  you  can't  expect  me  to 
make  you  all  rich."  There  was  such  a  sadness  of  re- 
proach in  Philip's  voice,  that  a  mist  gathered  before 
Philbrick's  kind  eyes.  But  the  workmen  got  the  idea 
they  were  frightening  the  young  master. 

Then  Philip  rose  wearily  to  his  feet  and  turned 
his  grave  troubled  eyes  almost  wistfully  to  one  after 
another  of  the  visitors. 

"  I  have  gone  as  far  as  I  can  see  my  way.  Don't 
you  think  you  had  better  be  patient  with  me?" 

"  Be  you  goin'  to  raise  our  pay?"  Philip  shook 
his  head  thoughtfully. 

*'  I  cannot  understand  it  is  my  duty  or  my  right." 

"  Are  you  goin'  to  shorten  up  our  hours  ?  "  asked 
the  man  at  the  window. 

**  I  cannot — " 

The  chief  spokesman  turned  to  his  companions. 
**  Ther  aint  no  use.  Wal  squire,  to-morrow  you  may 
wish  you  had.     Come  along,  boys." 

Philip  had  dropped  back  heavily  into  his  chair. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Philbrick,  till  that  gentleman  began  to  explain   his 


4 1 6  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. 

more  perfect  system.  Then  he  looked  at  him  vague- 
ly, as  if  he  were  trying  to  understand  the  man's 
object  in  distressing  him.  Had  he  not  told  the  old 
gentleman  he  was  too  late  ? 

"  How  can  you  expect  your  help  to  be  satisfied," 
Philbrick  was  saying ;  "  even  if  they  were  well  paid  it 
would  be  small  object  for  them  to  be  shut  up  all  their 
lives,  as  if  they  were  convicts.  But  you  don't  pay  them 
either.  It  isn't  because  the  business  don't  pay,  for 
your  father's  profits  and  yours  were  enormous.  It  is  all 
the  result  of  a  false  valuation  of  the  worth  of  services. 
Now  I  shall  seek  to  remove  the  burdens  that  crush 
the  people  and  restrict  their  natural  development," 
went  on  Mr.  Philbrick  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  bent 
eagerly  over  the  table  toward  his  young  friend. 

'*  Their  own  energies  will  accomplish  more  than 
any  plans  of  mine  can  effect,  in  ways  we  cannot  fore- 
see, but  it  will  only  be  through  the  elevation  of  the 
common  people,  as  we  call  them,  that  this  world  will 
become  a  fit  place  to  live  in.  The  progressive  energy 
of  untrammeled  nature  will  bring  about  all  beautiful 
results." 

Mr.  Philbrick  did  not  appear  to  have  understood 
his  meaning,  but  Philip  said  nothing  at  first.  How 
well  his  old  friend  had  kept  his  enthusiasm  through 
all  the  years  of  his  life !  Well,  it  would  do  no  harm 
to  let  him  talk  on. 

"You  will  ask  me  for  details."     Mr.  Philbrick 


THE  LAST  STRA  W  4I7 

took  his  seat  again  and  drew  up  to  him   a  sheet  of 
paper  and  a  pencil.     *'  You   will  ask  what   burdens 
they  are  that  are  on  the  million,  only  the   common 
necessary  burdens  of  human  nature.     I  will  tell  you 
the  principal  burden,  it  is  the  intolerable  tribute  to 
accumulated  capital  laid  upon  the  working  classes, 
which   makes  a  tyrant  of  the   man   who  has  saved 
a  surplus   out   his  wages,  and   causes   the  hopeless 
vis  inerticE  of  poverty.     Like  all  forms  of  slavery  its 
effects  are  great  apparent  luxury,  which  never  pen- 
etrates below  the  very  surface  of  society,  and  tireless 
industry  which  earns  nothing  for  the  workers    but 
food  barely  enough  to  support  his  day's  work.     It  is 
benefit  enough  for  the  man  who  has  saved  money 
that  he  can  work  to  better  advantage  ;  it  is  a  lever 
in   his   hands.     If  we   permit   capital   to   take   such 
enormous  profits  as  it  does,  every  day  and   year  it 
increases,  as  wealth   increases,  the  crushing  tax   on 
labor.       Instead    of  the   wealth  that  is  vaunted  so 
much    helping    the   poor,   every    pound    additional, 
with    our    high    rates    of    interest,    makes    the   day 
laborer's  life  more  hopeless.     The  rich  man  who  has 
a  surplus  may  spend   it   and   thus  live   on  it.     His 
wealth  stands  for  so  much  labor,  and  he  may  live  in 
idleness   on   the   strength  of  his  former  labor  if  he 
spends  it,  otherwise  somebody  must  work  the  harder 
on  his  account.     If  he  keeps  his  money  and  charges 
interest  on  it,  the  burden  he  ought  to  bear  is  handed 
27 


4 1 8  THE  BRE  TON  MILL  S. 

down  from  class  to  class  till  it  can  go  no  lower,  and 
the  poorest  men  in  the  great  city  toil  in  rags  and 
squalor  to  support  the  jeweled  aristocrat  who  would 
not  throw  them  a  crust  to  satisfy  their  hunger.  I 
shall  pay  you  but  two  per  cent  on  the  money  I  shall 
owe  you  on  account  of  the  mill  property.  The  rest 
of  the  income  of  the  business  above  two  per  cent, 
belongs  to  the  laborer." 

The  reformer  glanced  expectantly  at  Philip.  But 
the  dull  hopeless  look  that  was  on  his  face  an  hour 
ago  had  not  changed. 

''  I  am  not  sure  but  that  is  too  much,"  pursued 
Mr.  Philbrick,  "  but  it  will  only  be  a  little  while 
before  I  shall  pay  up  the  debt.'' 

"  How  will  you  divide  your  profits  ? "  asked 
Philip,  gravely.  ''  Wouldn't  you  leave  anything  of 
my  pretty  system  ?  "     He  smiled  very  sadly. 

*'  Certainly,"  argued  Philbrick,  ''  I  shall  declare 
dividends  just  as  you  did,  only  semi-annually.  The 
wages  will  remain  at  market  rates,  and  each  man 
will  receive  a  dividend  in  proportion  to  his  half 
■year's  work.  But  another  thing.  I  don't  want  any 
tenements  for  the  help.  I  mean  to  have  each  family 
own  its  home.  We  can't  expect  family  virtues  and 
graces  or  a  hundred  other  fine  qualities  from  tene- 
ments. I  shall  mean  to  apply  a  certain  part  of  each 
dividend  on  a  house  lot  which  I  shall  hold  by  mort- 
gage at  two  per  cent  till  paid  for." 


THE  LAST  STRA  IV.  4 1 9 

There  was  no  use  in  stopping  the  enthusiastic 
old  gentleman,  whose  great  heart  was  a  fountain  of 
human  kindness.  It  would  be  time  enough  for 
Philip  to  tell  him  that  he  had  changed  his  plans, 
later. 

"As  for  your  cheap  stores,  I  shall  keep  them," 
continued  Mr.  Philbrick,  in  high  spirits,  ''  but  I  shall 
go  farther  and  furnish  the  help  with  amusements, 
lectures,  newspapers,  even  pictures,  on  the  same 
method.  One  important  cause  of  high  prices  of 
such  things  is  the  uncertainty  in  market  and  in  pay- 
ment ;  those  that  buy  and  pay  have  to  pay  enough 
to  make  up  for  losses.  This  element  of  cost  I  shall 
be  able  to  save  the  village.  But  I  shall  also  shorten 
the  hours  of  work.  Six  hours  of  confinement  in  the 
mills  is  enough,  and  without  leisure  all  the  advan- 
tages I  can  give  my  work  people  will  be  of  little 
avail.  I  can  let  different  sets  of  hands  relieve  each 
other  if  it  seems  necessary,  or  build  new  mills  and 
take  in  a  thousand  more  hands  to  share  the  blessings 
of  justice." 

Mr.  Philbrick  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  a  great 
light  of  benevolence  shone  in  his  face.  It  was  a  pity 
to  disappoint  him. 

"  This  is  an  opportunity  I  have  hoped  for  a  whole 
lifetime.  I  can  show  the  world  that  labor  ought  not 
and  need  not  be  wretched  and  famished.  It  is  more 
blindness  than   wilful  cruelty   that  delays  great  re- 


420  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

forms.     If  I  can  once  show  the  world  what  justice  is 
and  how  it  works  it  will  not  be  long  before  "— 

''  But  my  dear  friend,"  said  Philip,  dropping  his 
eyes  to  the  floor,  "  did  I  not  tell  you  it  was  too  late. 
I  am  not  going  to  sell.  You  will  have  to  select  some 
other  spot  for  your  Utopia."  The  young  man  spoke 
bitterly.  Unconscious  of  his  selfishness  he  begrudged 
the  rest  of  the  world  the  happiness  he  had  missed. 

Then  came  a  moment  of  intense  silence  which 
was  broken  at  last,  not  by  a  voice  but  by  the  loud 
ringing  of  a  door-bell.  It  rang  so  violently  the 
great  silent  house  echoed  again.  Had  the  end 
come  then?  Philip  leaped  to  his  feet.  Wild 
thoughts  of  desperate  expedients  rushed  through 
his  feverish  brain,  but  he  yet  stood  like  a  statue 
when  the  study  door  opened  behind  him.  He  tore 
open  a  telegram  and  read  aloud, 

"  Steamer  Salvator  delayed  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  three." 

For  a  moment  he  did  not  take  in  its  meaning. 
Then  he  caught  Philbrick's  arm  so  tightly  the  old 
gentleman  almt)st  cried  out. 

'*  Do  you  want  the  mills  as  you  said  ?  You  were 
not  joking,  oh,  you  were  not  joking?"  Philbrick 
gazed  at  him  in  astonishment.  Philip  seemed  in 
such  a  terrible  state  of  excitement.  His  pallor 
was  replaced  by  a  burning  flush,  his  eyes  that  had 
been    so    dull    shone    with    unnatural    brightness. 


THE  LAST  STRAW.  4^1 

"Your  plans  will  succeed  better  than  mine  and  you 
can't  find  such  a  good  place  as  this.  You  will  take 
my  mills." 

"  Of  course  I  will,  but  I  thought  you  said  " — 

'^  Never  mind,"  cried  the  young  man,  ''  never 
mind  what  I  said.  Draw  the  papers  at  once.  But 
no,  I  cannot  wait."  Philip  turned  on  his  heel  as  if 
no  earthly  power  could  detain  him  a  moment  longer. 

"  But  the  papers  are  all  ready."  And  Mr.  Phil- 
brick  took  a  bundle  of  documents  from  his  breast 
pocket,  and  laid  them  on  the  table. 

''  Where  shall  I  sign  them — quick  ?  " 

*'  No,  no,  not  there,  that  is  my  note  to  you  ; 
sign  here,  and  here,  and  here." 

*'  I  can  hardly  see  ;  everything  dances  before  my 
eyes.     Is  it  all  done  now  ?" 

He  hardly  waited  to  take  the  papers  Mr.  Phil- 
brick  had  signed  for  him.  Then  without  another 
word  he  rushed  from  the  room  and  bounded  up  the 
stairs.  Freedom!  safety!  oh,  thank  God,  thank 
God !  He  could  save  her  yet.  A  castle  on  the 
Rhine,  a  palace  in  Venice ;  he  would  find  the  rarest 
homes  for  her.  How  sweet  it  would  be  to  hide  with 
her.  The  awful  sense  of  hourly  peril  would  lift 
from  his  soul ;  how  long  it  had  been  since  he 
breathed  a  full  breath. 

He  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  white  chamber. 
Bertha  had  been  sleeping.     The  tear  marks  were  on 


422  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

her  cheeks  that  had  lost  their  beautiful  flush.  She 
was  so  disappointed,  poor  girl,  and  yet  she  never 
guessed — 

"  Wake  up,  wake  up,  my  darling."  She  started 
from  the  bed,  and  fell  to  weeping  on  his  shoulder. 

*'  I  dreamed  they  were  taking  me  away  from  you, 
Philip."     But  he  dried  her  tears  with  merry  kisses. 

"  We  are  in  time  yet.  The  steamer  don't  go  till 
three  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 


Unwelcome    Visitors. 


THE  watchman  at  the  mills  was  not  a  little  sur- 
prised, as  he  went  his  first  round  that  night, 
to  see  a  man's  figure  leaning  against  a  pillar  in  one 
of  the  weave-rooms.  The  fellow  did  not  appear  to 
mean  any  harm  ;  he  was  not  breaking  any  thing  or 
stealing  any  cloth,  but  how  could  he  have  found 
his  way  inside  ?  The  watchman  felt  a  little  uneasy 
in  spite  of  himself;  it  was  such  a  thing  as  had  never 
happened  before. 

**  Hello  !  what  business  you  got  there  ?" 
But  the  interloper  did  not  appear  to  hear  him. 
How  oddly  he  looked  at  the  looms,  as  if  they  were 
living  things  that  he  loved.  He  had  not  spoken, 
and  his  hat  shaded  his  eyes,  but  the  expression  of 
the  attitude  was  so  plain,  that  even  so  rude  a  man 
as  the  watchman  could  read  the  tender  reminiscence 
in  his  heart.  Perhaps  the  fellow  might  be  crazy, 
but  this  was  no  place  for  him.  *'  Oh  !  I  didn't 
know  you,  Mr.  Breton.     It  is  a  nice  evenin',  sir." 

But  the  mill-owner  did  not  even  answer  him,  and 
moved  away  toward  the  window  as   if  impatient  at 


424  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

being  interrupted.  The  moon  was  full,  and  the  sky 
was  clear,  only  for  a  few  silver-edged  clouds.  One, 
he  fancied  a  ship  sailing  over  the  sea,  but  how  slowly 
it  glided  ;  could  it  go  no  faster?  Ah  !  suddenly  it 
parted  into  bright  fragments,  and  the  wind  scat- 
tered them  pitilessly.  He  looked  across  at  the 
other  mills  ;  the  moonlight  kissed  their  grim  walls 
fondly,  and  sparkled  in  their  windows  like  a  hundred 
brilliant  lamps.  Why,  here  were  his  fire  escapes, 
close  to  the  window  coping — his  first  business  ven- 
ture. Philip  raised  the  window  and  stepped  out- 
side. 

It  was  a  wonderful  night.  Why  couldn't  people 
sleep  by  day  and  awake  for  such  glorious  nights  as 
these?  He  looked  down  at  the  rising  walls  of  his 
new  mill,  whose  foundations  might  have  been  on  his 
heart,  so  crushed  it  was  to-night.  It  had  risen  three 
stories  high,  and  every  brick  ought  to  have  been 
gilded,  to  be  as  bright  as  his  dreams  for  his  new  mill. 
But  it  looked  terribly  like  a  tomb  to  him  to-night, 
within  its  wide  walls  were  his  buried  hopes.  But  the 
work  would  not  stop,  he  was  but  one,  and  that  mill 
was  for  thousands.  Others  would  admire  its  pro- 
portions, others,  more  blessed  than  he,  watch  over 
its  uses  and  rejoice  in  its  happy  throngs  of  workmen. 
They  would  have  but  a  scoff  or  a  jest  for  him,  only 
too  glad  henceforth  to  hide  from  renown.  How 
many  times  he  had  walked  the  worn  path  in  front  of 


UNWELCOME   VISITORS.  425 

the  mills,  when  grateful  faces  had  only  smiles  for 
him.  But  he  would  be  forgotten  as  if  he  were  dead, 
that  is  what  he  must  hope  for.  It  seemed  hard  to 
believe  that  his  mills  could  run  on  without  him,  that 
the  great  wheel  would  turn  as  willingly  for  another 
as  for  him. 

How  old  and  crooked  the  mills  looked.  Was  it 
a  trick  of  the  fantastic  moonlight,  that  made  the 
roofs  look  broken  and  the  bell  towers  leaning,  or  was 
it  his  own  morbid  fancy?  But  how  terribly  bright  it 
was,  what  a  misfortune  if  a  man  were  fleeing  from  a 
relentless  enemy  such  a  night  as  this.  Why  from 
his  post  he  could  see  the  winding  roadways  glisten- 
ing like  running  streams  as  they  left  the  village  and 
crossed  the  plains  on  every  side. 

It  must  be  nearly  time  for  Bertha  to  come  with 
the  carriage,  as  he  had  arranged.  No,  there  was 
half  an  hour  yet.  But  Philip  closed  the  window 
behind  him  and  went  down  the  silent  stairs.  To- 
morrow morning  they  would  be  crowded  with  weavers 
again.  How  the  girls  would  chatter.  *'  The  master 
has  run  away."  Would  to  God  they  would  have  it  to 
say,  and  not  "  they  have  caught  them.''  If  it  were  not 
so  light  now — But  it  was  so  still ;  surely  there  could 
be  no  danger  to-night. 

He  went  into  his  office,  he  would  wait  there  for 
the  carriage,  it  would  not  be  very  long,  and  then 
there  was  one  last  duty  he  must  attend  to.     He 


426  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

struck  a  match  and  the  gas  shot   up  so  brightly  it 
dazzled  his  eyes.     He  turned  away  for  an  instant. 

A  massive  form  stood  in  the  doorway.  Philip 
must  have  left  the  counting-room  unlocked  when  he 
had  come  in.  Some  one  had  followed  him,  appa- 
rently. But  the  young  mill-owner  took  only  one  step 
toward  the  intruder.  It  was  no  stranger  that  crossed 
his  threshold,  but  a  man  whose  name  was  burned 
into  his  heart.  It  was  the  rightful  husband  of  Philip 
Breton's  wife — Curran.  His  hair  had  grown  long  and 
almost  straight  about  his  neck.  His  cheeks  were 
thin  and  haggard,  and  the  form  that  had  been  like 
a  proud  oak,  was  bowed  as  if  it  had  been  weighed 
down  by  a  burden  too  heavy  even  for  a  giant  to 
bear.  Philip  stopped  short  and  looked  at  the  man 
with  speechless  terror.  He  had  supposed  him  hun- 
dreds of  miles  away.  Perhaps  the  outraged  husband 
had  never  left  the  village  since  their  last  meeting. 
Perhaps  his  flashing  eyes  had  watched  Philip  wooing 
his  wife  a  second  time,  and  begrudged  him  his  few 
cold  kisses.  Perhaps  he  had  peered  in  through  the 
windows  of  Philip's  home ;  had  he  not  a  right  to 
look  at  his  wife,  and  followed  them  forth  on  every 
walk  and  drive,  waiting  to  strike  till  the  blow  should 
fall  most  deadly.  He  had  chosen  his  time  well. 
Poor  Bertha,  with  her  dreams  of  Como  and  Cha- 
mouni.  But  what  would  he  do  ?  Leap  upon  his 
enemy  and  kill  him  ?  The  man  in  the  doorway  looked 


UNWELCOME    VISITORS.  427 

too  pale  and  ill  for  such  violence  ;  would  he  then 
heap  curses  upon  him,  the  bitterest  human  lips  ever 
uttered?  But  Curran  advanced  into  the  room  with 
outstretched  hand. 

"  Don't  you  know  me,  then,  friend  ?  " 

Philip  hesitated  again.  There  might  be  a  grain 
of  hope  yet  ;  he  would  surely  never  have  given  the 
young  man  his  hand  if  he  had  known— or  called  him 
friend. 

*'  Some  one  wrote  me  to  come.  I  don't  know 
what  he  wanted,"  Curran  explained  wearily.  *'  They 
expect  so  much  of  a  man  ;  they  want  him  to  be  a 
God  ;  and  if  he  were  they  would  crucify  him." 

Philip  was  recovering  his  composure.  At  first  he 
had  felt  a  wild  impulse  to  confess  everything  to  the 
wronged  husband.  He  seemed  so  grand,  so  magnani- 
mous ;  he  would  not  be  cruel.  But  then  his  reason 
came  back  to  him.  In  such  a  case  as  this  there  could  be 
no  amends.  Innocently,  Bertha  and  Philip  had  done 
him  a  terrible  wrong — and  themselves  ;  forgiveness 
could  not  blot  it  out.  God  in  his  mercy  might 
spare  them  the  penalty  of  infamy  ;  but  the  injured 
husband  had  no  choice  but  vindicate  his  honor, 
when  he  came  to  know. 

"  You  look  ill,"  said  Philip  at  last,  drawing  him 
out  a  chair.  Should  he  detain  him  ?  Bertha  might 
come  before  her  time  and  break  in  upon  them,  the 
two   men    she   had   injured  so  terribly.     Oh  !  that 


428  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

must  not  happen.  Was  not  that  a  step  in  the  pas- 
sage now  ?  Should  he  let  Curran  go,  then  ?  The 
first  man  he  met  would  pour  the  story  of  his 
shame  into  his  ears,  and  then  the  catastrophe.  He 
must  not  go — but  he  must  not  stay.  Philip  looked 
out  into  the  passage.  No  one  was  there.  Curran 
had  dropped  into  the   chair  Philip  had  offered  him. 

*'  Do  I  look  ill  ?"  he  asked,  pushing  his  long  hair 
back  from  his  forehead.  "  Did  you  ever  love  a 
woman  who  hated  you  ?  did  you  ever  want  to  pour 
out  your  life  for  her,  and  she  despise  you  ?  You 
know  whom  I  mean.  Why  I  once  fancied  you 
and  she  were  lovers,  till  she  told  me  not.  I  mean 
Bertha."  He  spoke  the  name  so  tenderly,  a  thrill 
of  shame  passed  over  Philip.  Bertha  was  this  man's 
wife.  Had  he  not  a  right  then  to  speak  her  name 
tenderly  ?  And  so  Curran  had  fancied  Bertha  and  he 
were  lovers  till  she  told  him  not — ah.  Bertha. 

"  She  has  left  me,"  Curran  went  on  in  the  same 
soft,  tender  tone.  "  I  don't  suppose  it  interests  you. 
But  if  I  could  only  see  her  now,  I  have  such  a 
strange  feeling  that  I  might  win  her  back.  She 
made  such  a  tender  sweetheart."  Then  he  lifted 
his  eyes  more  firmly  to  Philip's  face,  set  like  a  wall 
of  rock.     "  Is  there  any  trouble  among  your  help  ?" 

"Yes,  they  have  flung  all  my  offers  in  my 
teeth." 

"  It  must  have  been  that  made  them  send  for 


UNWELCOME    VISITORS.  429 

me.  I  had  hoped,  or  feared,  I  hardly  know  which,  it 
might  be  something  of  Bertha.  It  is  queer,  isn't  it, 
a  woman  Hke  her  should  turn  my  head  so  com- 
pletely? What  is  there  about  her,  did  you  ever 
think  of  it  ?  Of  course  you  haven't."  Curran  seemed 
to  make  an  effort  to  dismiss  all  thoughts  of  her  that 
unmanned  him.  "  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  me  ;  I 
thought  you  seemed  a  little  strange  when  I  came 
in." 

Philip  started  involuntarily,  but  Curran  con- 
tinued, "  I  sha'n't  encourage  any  strikes  against  you. 
God  will  bless  your  life  for  your  work  for  the  poor. 
If  He  hasn't  yet,  he  will  give  you  a  happier  love 
than  he  has  given  me."  Then  he  rose  with  new  en- 
ergy to  his  feet.  "  I  must  go  and  stop  the  mischief. 
I  can  do  more  with  your  laborers  for  good  or  evil 
than  any  man  in  the  world.  I  suppose  they  may  be 
in  the  hall  to-night?" 

'^  Yes."  But  Philip  hurried  up  to  him,  and  laid 
his  hand  on  his  arm.     *'  But  don't  go,  not  yet." 

"  I  must,  shall  you  be  here  long  ?  Well,  I  will 
see  you  again  to-night." 

'*  God  grant  not,"  murmured  Philip  Breton,  as 
the  door  closed  after  him.  Then  Philip  unlocked 
the  great  safe  and  swung  back  its  green  door  of 
iron.  He  took  out  a  packet  and  then  locked  the 
safe  again  and  carried  his  packet  back  to  his  office. 
He  turned  the  gas  still  higher  and  held  the  packet 


430  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

in  the  flame,  till  all  that  was  left  of  it  was  a  little 
heap  of  charred  paper  on  the  floor — all  that  was  left 
of  Philip  Breton's  Will.  With  that  act  he  closed  up, 
as  he  believed,  all  that  part  of  his  life  worthy  to  be 
remembered.  He  was  young  and  strong,  but  he  had 
failed.  Henceforth  he  must  look  on  while  others 
worked  ;  they  had  taken  his  work  away  from  him. 
He  must  sit  back  on  the  seats  with  the  women  and 
children,  and  look  on  and  applaud  when  great  deeds 
were  doing.  He  would  have  liked  to  work  too,  but 
perhaps  others  would  do  his  work  better. 

'*  Hallo,  hallo,  Phil,  don't  you  work  pretty  late?  " 
It  was  Giddings  the  lawyer  in  a  condition  of  decided 
intoxication.  "  I'll  bet  yer  dollar  you  don't  know 
what  I  came  for  !  ha  ha  ha  ;  you  think  money  ;  don't 
you?  more  money?  But  I  aint  that  sort  of  a  feller." 

Philip  had  been  simply  disgusted  at  first,  but 
there  seemed  .a  terrible  leer  in  the  drunken  eyes. 
Could  it  be  the  man  had  come  to  expose  him?  What 
was  the  use  of  struggling  against  his  destiny  any 
longer?  If  he  could  have  gone  yesterday,  he  would 
have  saved  all  risks.  But  he  had  waited  just  too 
long.  Curran  had  returned  to  claim  his  wife  ;  Jane 
Ellingsworth  had  discovered  everything,  and  now 
this  Giddings  in  his  drunkard's  foolishness  was  threat- 
ening what  ruin  he  could  bring. 

**  You  are  not  going  to  do  anything  rash  are  you," 
said  Philip  dropping  his  eyes  in  humihation. 


UNWELCOME    VISITORS.  43 1 

But  Giddings  came  close  to  him  and  laid  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  Then  he  put  his  face  close  to 
Philip's,  with  a  drunken  man's  false  measure  of  dis- 
tance. The  young  man  writhed  at  his  touch,  and 
held  his  breath  to  avoid  taking  the  hot  fumes  of  bad 
liquor  the  fellow  exhaled.  But  he  did  not  dare  to 
anger  the  low  creature. 

"  Did  you  think,"  continued  Giddings  with  gush- 
ing reproachfulness, ''  that  I  aint  got  any  conscience  ? 
You're  doin'  wrong,  Mr.  Breton.  I  aint  got  no  right 
— no  right  to  let  it  go  on.  Did  you  think  I  aint  got 
no  conscience  ?  " 

Philip  shook  him  off  and  his  face  grew  so  terrible 
that  the  fellow  winced,  as  he  had  done  before  at 
that  look. 

"  Don't  strike— don't  kill  me  Phil— Mr.  Breton, 
I  was  only  jokin' — can't  you  tell  when  a  man's  jokin'. 
Got  any  money  'bout  clothes,  say  fiffy  dollars, 'm  awful 
hard  up.  I  wouldn't  hurt  you,  your  altogether  too 
nice  feller."  He  leered  affectionately  at  the  young 
man,  then  suddenly  he  winked  frightfully.  "And 
'sides  where  would  my  pocket  money  come  from  ?  he, 
he,  he.  Your  the  goose  you  might  say  or  the  gander, 
no  that  won'  do,  I  mean  your  the  goose  that  lays  my 
golden  eggs^  see,  my  boy.  I  wouldn't  harm  yer  mite, 
only  juss  squeeze  yer  little  sometimes,  he,  he,  he." 

Philip  threw  him  a  roll  of  bills.  It  was  the  last 
blood  money  the  scoundrel  would  ever  draw.     By 


432  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

to-morrow  morning  Philip  Breton  and  his  wife  would 
be  beyond  the  reach  of  harm,  or  beyond  the  reach  of 
help,  one  or  the  other.  ''  There  is  a  hundred  dol- 
lars, take  it  and  go,  I  have  business." 

The  drunken  man  looked  suspiciously  at  his  vic- 
tim, his  professional  instinct  was  warned  in  spite  of 
his  intoxication.  The  young  man  was  too  eager.  But 
Giddings'  brain  was  too  befogged  for  a  long  train  of 
reasoning.  He  was  suspicious,  but  his  suspicions  at 
present  got  no  farther  than  the  roll  of  money.  He 
concluded  Philip  Breton  was  trying  to  cheat  him, 
and  began  to  count  over  the  bills  with  set  staring 
eyes,  that  had  a  strange  look  of  blindness  in  them, 
and  with  forehead  hideously  wrinkled  in  the  effort  to 
be  sober. 

''  Ten,  twenty,  and  twenty  makes  thirty,  ten,  and 
tw^enty  and  twenty,  here  aint  but  eighty  dollars. 
Thought  I's  too  drunk  to  coun'  did  yer." 

''  There  is  a  hundred  dollars  there." 

"  'S  lie.  Yer  takin'  vantage  me  cause  I'm  drunk." 

Giddings  burst  into  maudlin  drunkard's  tears  and 
missing  the  chair  he  tried  for  sat  down  on  the  floor. 
Philip  pulled  him  to  his  feet.  Bertha  might  be  here 
any  moment.  This  creature  must  be  away  if  it  cost 
a  thousand  dollars.  He  crowded  another  twenty 
dollar  bill  into  the  fellow's  clammy  hand. 

'*  Now  go,  or  you'll  stay  longer  than  you  want 
to" 


UNWELCOME   VISITORS.  433 

Giddings  dried  his  tears  and  gathered  his  limp 
joints  together  to  go.  But  he  insisted  on  PhiHp's 
shaking  hands.  ''  No  ba  feelins  you  know.  You 
aint  such  ba  feller,  Misser  Breton,  but  I  should 
thought  you'd  got  a  pootier  woman  for  all  your 
trouble,  there  I  didn't  mean  'n-harm.  Goo-bye 
Misser  Breton." 

But  even  after  Giddings  had  got  into  the  hall 
Philip  heard  the  fellow  muttering  to  himself.  He 
stepped  hurriedly  to  the  door  of  his  office  to  catch 
the  words,  but  could  not.  If  Philip  had  been  a 
little  quicker  he  would  have  heard  this. 

*'  Somethin'  up,  I  aint  so  drung  but  I  ca'  see 
that.  Guess  'sil  g'up  to  the  boy's  house.  His  wife 
'11  knew  me,  he,  he." 

Would  Bertha  never  come  ?  If  they  escaped  it 
would  be  but  by  a  hair's  breadth.  Ruin  would  be 
close  upon  them.  For  the  adjustment  of  a  ribbon 
she  would  sacrifice  everything.  It  seemed  a  great 
while  since  Curran  had  left  the  office  for  the  labor 
meeting,  and  he  had  not  so  far  to  go.  Something 
might  have  delayed  the  terrible  disclosure  for  a  few 
moments,  but  by  this  time  he  must  surely  have 
heard  the  whole  story  of  his  shame  and  dishonor. 
It  would  stir  him  to  madness.  His  noble  eyes  would 
flash  lightnings,  and  thunderbolts  of  hate  and  scorn 
would  drop  from  his  lips.  No  human  being  could 
stand  against  the  divine  dignity  of  such  a  man's 
28 


434  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

righteous  wrath.  Philip  fancied  the  mob  sweeping 
up  the  road  after  this  outraged  husband,  seeking  out 
his  wife  for  the  doom  that  would  satisfy  his  mad 
thirst  for  vengeance.  Now,  perhaps,  they  were 
bursting  in  the  gates,  now  breaking  down  the  oaken 
door.  Ah,  Philip  would  not  be  there  this  time  to 
protect  the  beautiful  woman  who  had  only  sinned 
through  love  for  him.  How  the  color  would  flee 
her  cheeks  as  she  looked  out  on  the  pitiless  faces  of 
the  frenzied  mob.  There  was  no  arm  now  to  shield 
her,  none  but  Curran's,  whose  love  was  now  embit- 
tered into  hate.  There  was  no  pity  in  his  white, 
wasted  face,  only  insulted  love,  only  scorn  that  could 
grind  her  fair  life,  without  one  throb  of  tenderness, 
beneath  his  feet. 

Why  did  she  not  come  !  Philip  was  almost  wild 
with  mingled  terror  and  hope.  He  walked  the  room 
like  a  caged  lion.  Now  he  rushed  to  the  door  and 
glanced  desperately  up  and  down  the  street. 

His  horses  were  champing  their  bits  at  her  door, 
but  the  light  yet  burned  in  her  chamber.  There 
was  hardly  time  to  catch  the  train  at  the  Lockout 
station.  The  wild  mob  with  the  maddened  lover, 
the  most  terrible  of  enemies,  at  their  head,  would  be 
at  her  door  in  a  moment.  Still  other  dangers  Philip 
did  not  guess  threw  a  gathering  shadow  across  her 
path.     But  she  lingered  yet. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A  Popular  Leader. 

MARKET  HALL  was  full  of  excited  work- 
men when  Curran  pushed  the  door  open  and 
stepped  in.  Some  would-be  orator  was  trying  to 
voice  the  wrongs  of  the  people,  but  when  the  whis- 
per ran  along  the  seats  that  Curran  was  at  the  door, 
every  head  was  turned.  Then  as  if  by  a  common 
impulse  the  whole  audience  rose  to  their  feet,  and 
the  building  seemed  to  tremble  with  the  cheer  that 
burst  from  the  brawny  throats.  Here  was  an  orator 
indeed,  a  man  who  could  set  before  them  their  suf- 
ferings, and  wring  their  hearts  with  self-pity  ;  who 
could  make  each  soul  of  them  wonder  at  his  own 
patience. 

All  they  needed  was  a  leader,  there  were  enough 
of  them  to  bear  down  all  opposition  ;  they  lacked 
neither  in  courage  nor  endurance,  but  only  in  unity. 
There  was  no  leader  to  bind  them  to  a  resistless 
purpose. 

The  poor  from  unnumbered  betrayals  have  learned 
suspicion  ;  they  commonly  distrust  every  man  who 
would  rise  above  their  hopeless  dead  level.  The  great 


43^  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

man  who  would  crush  them,  they  yield  to ;  but  the 
man  of  themselves  who  longs  to  work  with  them  and 
for  them,  the  man  who  alone  could  direct  concerted 
action,  such  as  is  employed  against  them,  they  meet 
with  hate  and  suspicion.  Their  labor  movement 
which  might  sweep  everything  before  it,  drifts  help- 
lessly with  every  gust  of  changing  passions  like  a 
Great  Eastern  with  unshipped  rudder. 

But  some  way  Curran  could  conquer  their  dis- 
trust for  a  little  while  at  least.  They  called  him  their 
pride  and  their  delight,  his  marvelous  magnetism 
could  disarm  their  envy  at  least  while  they  listened 
to  him.  To-night  they  would  have  followed  where 
he  said,  if  it  had  left  a  track  of  ruin  behind  them. 

He  made  his  way  slowly  up  the  aisle  with  simple 
greetings  for  his  friends,  as  they  stretched  out  their 
grimy  hands  to  him  ;  but  his  smile  was  so  sad  and 
hopeless  that  every  glad  face  sobered  as  he  passed. 
He  mounted  the  platform  and  turned  his  face  toward 
them.  He  seemed  but  the  ghost  of  his  former  mag- 
nificent manhood,  but  the  people  cheered  him  again 
and  those  in  the  rear  leaped  upon  their  seats  in  their 
eagerness  to  see  their  hero.  Then  all  held  their 
breath  to  listen  ;  even  the  girls  in  the  gallery  stop- 
ped their  excited  whispering  while  they  waited  for 
his  grand  ringing  tones  that  had  thrilled  the  faintest 
hearts  so  many  times  before.  Would  he  never  begin  ? 

"  What  is  this  meeting  for?  " 


A  POPULAR  LEADER.  43/ 

The  orator  his  coming  had  interrupted,  was  only 
too  glad  to  explain. 

''  We  don't  get  our  rights.  We  get  a  little,  but 
that's  all,  and  we  mean  to  fetch  the  young  boss  to 
his  milk  to-morrow  ;  don't  we,  lads  ?  " 

A  shout  of  eager  assent  went  up  from  the  crowd. 
Then  all  was  still  again.  Now  would  come  the 
torrent  of  words  of  flame.  Yes,  Curran  had  stepped 
forward  to  the  very  edge  of  the  platform,  in  his  old 
habit.  But  who  was  the  fellow  with  bandaged  head, 
pushing  his  way  so  rudely  up  the  main  aisle,  as  if  he 
bore  tidings  ?  It  must  be  ill  tidings  to  make  him  in 
such  haste.     But  Curran  had  begun  to  speak. 

"  You  are  making  a  mistake,  my  friends — a  great 
mistake.  The  young  master  has  done  well  by  you, 
and  he  will  do  better,  if  you  will  give  him  time  to 
think.  Such  mighty  ideas  as  have  got  into  his 
mind,  can't  be  stopped  ;  they  will  not  let  him  halt 
long,  he  must  be  swept  forward.  But  you  must 
wait  for  him  ;  you  have  waited  for  your  cruel  and 
heartless  masters  thousands  of  years.  Will  you 
only  show  yourselves  impatient  and  insolent  to  the 
first  one  who  shows  himself  kind  toward  you  ?  Do 
you  want  to  make  his  name  an  example  and  a  warn- 
ing for  his  class  ?  I  have  heard  their  scoffs  and  taunts 
already — the  air  is  full  of  them.  Look,  they  say, 
the  way  the  people  treat  the  man  who  tries  to  help 
them.     Friends,  you  are  making  a  terrible  mistake." 


43 B  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

The  light  of  the  man's  noble  genius  had  flushed 
his  pale  cheeks,  and  flashed  beautifully  in  his  steel 
blue  eyes.  His  voice  that  had  seemed  weak  and  un- 
steady as  he  began,  rang  out  its  bell-like  tones 
asrain,  as  he  saw  the  sullen  faces  soften  under  his 
matchless  power. 

*'  He  has  made  your  village  blossom  by  his  love  ; 
he  has  brought  smiles  to  your  weary  children's 
faces  ;  he  has  planted  hope  in  a  thousand  desperate 
hearts.  Do  you  ask  me  how  I  know  ?  I  see  it  in 
your  eyes.  I  see  it  in  the  way  your  heads  rest  on 
your  broad  shoulders.  And  will  you  use  your  new 
manhood  to  do  him  injury  ?" 

But  the  man  with  the  bandaged  head  had  reached 
the  platform,  and  at  this  very  moment  when  the 
orator  paused  to  let  his  meaning  sink  into  the  hearts 
of  the  people,  he  touched  Curran  on  the  shoulder, 
and  whispered  a  few  hurried  words  in  his  ear. 

The  people  saw  their  hero's  face  blanch.  He 
turned  to  the  fellow  with  a  look  that  would  break  a 
man's  heart,  and  seemed  to  be  asking  him  a  question. 
As  he  listened  to  the  reply,  his  knees  trembled 
under  him,  and  he  sank  into  a  chair,  and  still  the 
messenger  of  evil  bent  over  him,  and  kept  whisper- 
ing with  poisonous  breath  into  his  ear.  At  last 
Bailes  stood  back  from  his  victim,  who  bowed  his 
head  upon  his  hands.  Curran's  whole  body  shook 
with  the  violence  of  his  passion. 


A   POPULAR  LEADER.  439 

The  inert  people  waited.  They  knew  nothing 
else  to  do.  Their  hero  might  have  died  before 
them,  they  would  never  have  thought  to  stir  from 
their  seats.  But  he  rose  at  last,  and  Bailes  grinned 
diabolically  behind  him.  They  would  have  another 
story  now. 

"  Friends,  you  have  heard  what  I  said."  He 
spoke  as  if  a  great  weight  was  upon  him  and  his 
voice  came  slowly.  "  I  repeat  it,  be  patient  with 
your  young  master;  he  means  well  by  you." 

But  Bailes  rushed  forward  and,  tearing  the  band- 
ages from  his  head,  threw  them  upon  the  platform  at 
his  feet.  Disease  had  settled  in  his  bruises  and  his 
face  was  frightfully  swollen  and  disfigured.  He 
might  have  been  a  ghoul  or  a  gnome  instead  of  a 
human  being. 

"  Revenge  him,  men,''  he  screamed,  throwing  up 
his  arms,  "  if  you  have  any  spirit  in  you.  I  have 
just  told  him — some  of  you  knew  it — how  that  boy 
has  stole  his  wife  and  spit  on  the  laws,  as  if  they 
were  not  for  the  rich  like  him." 

It  was  more  like  a  groan  than  a  shout  that  went 
up  from  the  crowd  before  him,  that  only  waited  a 
word  from  the  bowed,  broken  man  they  loved,  to 
become  a  blood-thirsty  mob.  Would  he  give  them 
their  word  ^  He  had  leaped  to  his  feet  and  thrown 
out  his  long  right  arm  in  his  grandest  gesture,  and 
the  murmur  of  the  people  died  down.     His  face  was 


440  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

as  white  as  a  dead  man's,  an  ashy  white,  but  his  eyes 
flashed  lightnings. 

"  Whose  wrong  is  it  then,  this  hideous  creature's 
or  mine  ?  I  will  settle  my  own  grievances,  I  need 
no  mob  to  right  me."  Then  Curran  paused  a  mo- 
ment. When  he  began  again  it  was  in  a  lower  tone. 
''  Besides,  the  man  is  wrong,"  his  voice  trembled  like 
a  child's,  '^  I  have  no — no,"  he  almost  broke  down, 
'*  I  have  no  wife — I  am — I  am  not  well,  I  must  go  to 
my  bed,  but  before  I  go  I  want  to  be  sure  you  will 
rnake  no  mistake  to-night  or  to-morrow."  He  folded 
his  arms  across  his  broad  chest  in  a  sublime  effort  of 
self-control.  His  blood  boiled  in  mad  fever,  every 
moment  was  worth  a  world  to  him,  agonizing  pictures 
floated  before  his  dimmed  vision,  but  he  would  not 
stir  from  his  post  till  he  had  conquered  this  mob, 
■'  Philip  Breton  has  shown  himself  fair  to  you,  be  fair 
with  him.  If  he  never  did  another  thing  for  you  he 
: — he  has  yet  deserved  your — your  patience.  You  will 
excuse  rne  now,  I  will  see  you  to-morrow,  but  I  need 
rest.  Can  I  depend  on  you  ?  "  He  did  not  even  look 
at  them  ;  his  attitude,  as  he  waited  with  downcast 
eyes,  was  of  a  man  walking  in  his  sleep. 

*'  Yes — yes,"  shouted  the  people,  and  then  he 
turned  and  stepped  off  from  the  platform.  He  came 
down  the  aisle  very  strangely,  at  first  he  would 
hurry  and  notice  no  one,  then,  as  if  by  a  mighty  ef- 
fort, walk  very  slowly,   then  faster  again,   then  he 


A  POPULAR  LEADER.  44 1 

would  stop  short  and  put  out  his  hand  to  some  per- 
fect stranger. 

Many  eyes  watched  him  curiously  when  he  sep- 
arated from  his  eager  friends  at  the  door  of  the  hall 
and  walked  rapidly  away.  If  Curran  had  turned  off 
to  the  road  that  led  to  Philip  Breton's  house  on 
the  hill,  he  would  not  have  gone  alone,  but  he  did 
not  even  look  that  way  so  long  as  the  half-tamed 
mob  could  see  him.  So  the  people  scattered  in  dis- 
appointment to  their  homes. 

But  Curran  is  no  longer  walking  in  his  first  direc- 
tion ;  he  has  turned  on  his  heel  and  made  a  route  for 
himself  across  the  fields  ;  his  face  is  pointed  towards 
the  lights  that  yet  shine  down  at  him  from  the  stone 
house  on  the  hill.  And  the  roads  are  not  straight 
enough  for  the  errand  he  is  on,  nor  is  walking  fast 
enough,  he  breaks  into  a  run.  Now  he  falls  over  a  low 
fence  so  violently  a  limb  might  have  been  broken, 
but  he  only  loses  his  hat  and  runs  on,  his  long  hair 
shaking  down  over  his  pale  set  face  as  he  runs.  His 
breath  comes  like  the  puffing  of  a  locomotive,  he  can 
hear  his  heart  throb  louder  than  his  footfalls. 

What  does  he  seek,  what  will  he  do  when  he 
looks  again  on  his  faithless  and  dishonored  wife  and 
on  the  man  who  has  put  this  deadliest  shame  upon 
him  ?  Punishment  can  wipe  out  nothing,  vengeance 
never  assuaged  one  pang  of  human  anguish  yet. 
But  mercy  or  pity  or  reason  are  fled  from  his  mad- 
dened soul  to-night  while  the  furies  whip  him  on. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

Too   Fond  a  JIusba?id. 

THE  drunken  lawyer  very  nearly  fell  as  he  tried 
to  step  off  the  counting-room  piazza,  and  almost 
made  up  his  mind  it  would  be  more  desirable  to  lie 
down  in  some  soft  spot  and  go  to  sleep,  than  take  the 
long  walk  he  had  set  himself.  But  the  cool  breeze 
seemed  to  refresh  him  marvelously,  and  in  another 
moment  he  despised  the  green  hollow  under  the  elm 
that  had  looked  so  inviting,  and  hurried  up  toward 
Philip  Breton's  house.  He  shook  his  head  wisely 
as  he  walked.  It  took  a  pretty  smart  man  to  get 
ahead  of  John  Giddings,  drunk  or  sober.  The  young 
mill-owner  wasn't  nearly  as  frightened  as  usual. 
Something  was  in  the  wind.  He  ought  to  have 
watched  him  closer  lately,  but  Giddings  concluded 
he  was  in  good  time  yet  with  Breton  at  one  end  of 
the  village  his  wife  at  the  other  and  himself,  the  acute 
lawyer,  between  them. 

The   lawyer  had  walked   as  far  as  Silas  Ellings- 
worth's  house,  when   he  caught  sight   of  a  pair  of  • 
horses  on  a  fast  trot,  drawing  a  close  coupe.     Ele- 
gant pairs  and  chariots  of  that  description  were  not 


TOO  FOND  A  HUSBAND.  443 

SO  common  in  Brctonville  as  to  make  it  doubt- 
ful who  might  own  this  one,  and  besides  it  must 
have  been  an  occasion  of  pecuHar  necessity  that 
called  for  such  unaristocratic  haste.  Giddino-s  was 
perfectly  delighted  wi'th  his  own  sagacity. 

He  knew  human  nature  pretty  well.  When  a 
man  gets  another  in  an  unpleasant  situation,  he  must 
count  on  the  unfortunate  struggling  to  escape,  if  it 
happens  to  be  a  woman,  he  need  not  be  so  watchful, 
— women  are  all  fatalists.  But  it  takes  a  pretty  smart 
man  to  get  ahead  of  John  Giddings. 

'*  Whoa,  whoa,  I  say."  The  lawyer  had  thrown 
himself  in  front  of  the  excited  horses,  and  the  driver 
had  to  pull  up  to  keep  from  running  over  him. 
''  Whoa,  I  say." 

Then  he  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  carriage  and 
turning  the  knob  threw  it  wide  open.  The  moon- 
light revealed  a  w^oman  surrounded  with  carpet  bags 
and  shawls.  A  thick  brown  veil  concealed  her  fea- 
tures, but  Mr.  Giddings  took  off  his  hat  to  her. 

''  Mrs.  Breton,  I  believe." 

"  Why  yes,"  she  did  not  recognize  him,  ''  but  I 
am  in  a  hurry,"  she  said  nervously  drawing  back. 

"  Drive  on  Henry." 

''  No,  you  don't,"  insisted  Giddings,  mounting 
the  steps.  ''  I  guess  you  don'  know  me."  His  liquor 
began  to  overcome  him  again,  *'  name's  Giddings, 
aint  goin'  far  are  you  ?  "  . 


444  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

"  To  Europe,"  she  answered  quickly,  recognizing 
him  at  last.  *'  I  have  no  further  occasion  for  your 
services,  I  have  paid  you,  haven't  I  ?  " 

'*  Not  s'much  as  your  second  husband's  paid  me 
since,"  he  gurgled.  "  If  you're  goin'  so  far,  guess 
I'll  go  too,  I  like  your  family,  Miss  Breton." 

"  Drive  on,  I  command  you,''  she  screamed,  and 
the  horses  started.  Giddings  lurched  forward,  and 
Bertha  put  out  her  white  hands,  and  tried  to  push 
him  back.  He  clutched,  with  an  oath,  at  something 
to  hold  to,  but  she  loosened  her  India  shawl,  and  the 
man  carried  it  with  him  into  the  ditch.  But  he 
leaped  to  his  feet. 

"  Hold  !  stop  !  police,  police  !"  but  Giddings  had 
no  sooner  spoken  than  the  village  policeman  laid  his 
hand  on  his  arm. 

"  Here  I  am,  sir,  what'U  you  have  ?" 

"  Stop  that  carriage  ;  arrest  that  woman,  she  is  a 
criminal."  Giddings  had  shaken  off  the  policeman's 
grasp,  and  started  to  run  after  the  carriage. 

'■'  You  must  be  very  drunk,"  said  the  other,  over- 
taking him,  ''  that  is  Mr.  Breton's  wife." 

"  I  know  that,"  screamed  the  lawyer,  "  and  I 
tell  you,  stop  her,  let  me  go." 

''  More  likely  you're  the  criminal.  Hallo,  what 
you  doing  with  that  Indy  shawl  Guess  I'll  have  to 
lock  you  up.     Come  along  quiet,  now." 

But  Giddings  was  perfectly  frantic.     He  fought 


TOO  FOND  A  HUSBAND.  445 

with  his  feet  and  hands,  and  with  his  teeth,  kicking, 
tearing  and  biting  like  a  wild  beast. 

''  Don't  let  her  escape,  I  say,  never  mind  me,  I'll 
give  you  a  thousand  dollars.  I'll  tear  your  heart 
out,  you  villain.  Stop  her,  stop  her  !''  The  officer 
grew  angry  at  last,  and  drew  his  billet,  but  still  the 
fellow  struggled  and  screamed  like  a  wild  creature, 
till  blow  after  blow  paralyzed  his  arms,  and  finally 
stretched  him  unconscious  and  bleeding  on  the 
ground. 

"  Tremens,"  growled  the  policeman,  as  he  lifted 
him  to  his  feet  soon  after,  and  led  him  along,  sub- 
dued at  last. 

But  a  woman  had  stood  in  her  window  as  the  car- 
riage had  rolled  by,  and  she  had  recognized  the  equip- 
age, too.     A  sudden  change  came  over  her  face. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Jennie?"  Her  husband 
looked  up  calmly  from  his  paper. 

*'  Out  a  minute,"  she  hardly  looked  at  him, 
''  that  is  all." 

"  But  it  is  almost  nine  o'clock,  my  dear,  what  can 
you  want  out  ?" 

Her  breath  came  fast,  and  two  bright  red  spots 
burned  in  her  cheeks.  Mr.  Ellingsworth  had  never 
seen  her  so  pretty.  He  must  keep  her  so  a  few  mo- 
ments. He  stepped  to  the  door  and  turned  the  key, 
then  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  threw  himself  back 
in  his  chair  again. 


446  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

She  faced  him  with  flashing  eyes. 

*'  How  dare  you — am  I  your  slave  ?  I  want  to  go 
out." 

Her  husband  settled  down  cozily  in  his  seat,  and 
smiled  his  old  brilliant  smile.  She  had  never  seen 
him  laugh  any  more  than  the  rest  of  his  acquain- 
tances. He  might  perhaps,  have  laughed  before  an 
intimate,  but  men  like  Silas  Ellingsworth  have  no 
intimates. 

"  How  lovely  you  are  when  you  are  angry.  I 
see  I  have  made  a  mistake  in  being  so  amiable  with 
you.  What  treats  I  have  lost.  Why,  you  are  bet- 
ter than  an  actress,  my  dear.  Such  coloring  as 
yours  does  not  hurt  the  complexion." 

Precious  time  was  flying  ;  the  carriage  had 
rolled  away  out  of  sight ;  her  victim  had  outwitted 
her — her  hate  would  be  balked  forever,  and  all  for 
her  husband's  foolish  caprice.  She  stamped  her  foot 
at  him.  "  I  must  go."  There  was  yet  time  to 
rouse  the  villagers,  and  fetch  back  the  fugitives 
from  justice.  Oh,  what  devil  of  stupidity  had  pos- 
sessed her  wise  husband  to-night?  ''Give  me  the 
key."  She  had  come  close  to  him,  but  she  did  not 
scream  when  she  was  angry,  her  voice  grew  low  and 
almost  hoarse,  "or  I  will  leave  you  forever." 

He  had  laid  aside  his  paper  now,  with  quite  a 
serious  air  ;  and  Jane  felt  vaguely  frightened ;  she 
^"»ad  never  seen  him  sober  with  her.     Could  he  do 


TOO  FOND  A  HUSBAND.  44/ 

any  more  than  others  when  they  are  angry  ?  She 
did  not  reason  about  it  ;  she  only  began  to  be  afraid 
of  her  own  words.  His  was  the  only  nature  in  the 
world  could  have  tamed  her  so  completely. 

'*  That  is  just  the  trouble."  Then  he  smiled  as 
brightly  as  ever  his  keen  cold  smile.  *'  You  want  to 
leave  me  now,  but  I  love  you  too  well  to  let  you  ; 
come  kiss  me  and  I  will." 

Every  moment  Philip  Breton's  carriage  was  bear- 
ing the  woman  Jane  hated,  to  safety  and  peace  that 
her  false  heart  had  never  deserved.  But  there  were 
fleeter  horses  in  Bretonville  than  his  ;  they  could 
be  pursued  ;  they  could  be  overtaken  and  dragged 
back  in  greater  ignominy  than  ever.  It  would  be 
more  terrible  for  Bertha  than  if  the  blow  had  come 
while  she  sat  serene  in  her  own  home.  To  be 
overtaken  in  flight  would  cap  her  shame.  Jane 
threw  herself  into  her  husband's  arms.  She  kissed 
his  eyes,  his  mouth,  his  white  neck  ;  she  covered  his 
smooth  hands  with  kisses  ;  twining  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  she  lavished  the  tenderest  of  caressing 
epithets  on  him.  Then  she  drew  herself  away. 
Her  black  hair  had  been  partly  loosened,  and  as  she 
stood  hung  well  down  her  flushed  cheeks.  She  had 
raised  her  hands,  and  clasped  them  over  her  bosom  ; 
her  lips  parted  ;  surely  no  human  being  can  resist 
such  wistful  beauty  as  hers. 

"  Please  let  me  go." 


443  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

But  before  he  could  answer,  she  heard  a  noise 
like  thunder  and  rushed  to  the  window.  She  sees 
nothing,  but  the  sound  comes  on  nearer  and  nearer ; 
it  comes  from  the  hill.  Something  white  gleams  in 
the  moonlight. 

"  What  do  you  see  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Ellingsworth, 
carelessly,  returning  to  his  newspaper. 

She  holds  her  breath,  nearer  it  comes,  Philip's 
white  horse  Joe  on  a  mad  gallop.  But  Philip  is  not 
upon  him.  Who  is  that  wild  rider,  with  long  uncov- 
ered hair,  and  pale  haggard  face  ?  He  strikes  the 
maddened  animal  every  moment  for  better  speed, 
though  now  they  seem  flying  faster  than  the  wind. 
The  man  is  Curran.  Let  him  be  his  own  avenger, 
then. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

The  Price  of  Happiness. 

THE  Breton  carriage  had  passed  the  last  house 
in  the  village,  when  Philip  leaned  out  for  one 
last  look  at  the  home  of  his  childhood  and  the  scene 
of  the  only  work  he  should  ever  do.  He  was  almost 
a  boy  yet,  it  seemed  only  a  few  days  since  he  had 
looked  at  the  great  world  only  as  a  play-ground.  It 
was  a  short  work  he  had  done  in  the  few  days  of  his 
manhood,  and  even  that  had  been  condemned.  Dear 
old  mills,  with  their  bold  towers  and  massive  walls, 
but  his  no  longer.  His  heritage  was  sold,  his  birth- 
right lost.  He  turned  his  eyes  away,  it  was  more 
than  he  could  bear.  On  the  hill  back  above  the 
village  he  saw  for  the  last  time,  as  the  road  wound 
off  toward  Lockout,  his  house,  that  was.  "  Deserted  " 
seemed  written  on  its  stone  walls.  It  had  never 
looked  so  noble  to  him,  a  sort  of  halo  seemed  to 
float  above  it.  He  could  see  the  window  of  the 
room  where  he  was  born,  but  for  what  a  worthless 
hfe. 

''  Good-bye,"  he  murmured.     The  road  as  it  fol- 
lowed the  winding  river  made  another  turn,  and  the 
29 


450  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

lights  of  the  village  were  shut  away  from  his  misty 
eyes. 

The  horses  were  trotting  at  their  best.  There 
was  none  too  much  time. 

It  was  far  better  than  he  had  hoped.  The 
dangers  had  gathered  so  thickly,  there  had  seemed 
at  one  time  hardly  more  than  a  chance  for  escape. 
Peril  seemed  on  every  hand,  enemies  to  spring  from 
every  covert,  and  stretch  out  their  hands  to  stop  the 
fugitives.  But  the  village  was  far  behind  now.  A  few 
moments  more,  and  the  steaming  horses  would  draw 
up  at  the  Lockout  station,  and  they  would  be  whirled 
away  faster  than  any  pursuer,  to  peace  and  safety 
and  honor. 

"  How  odd  it  all  is,  setting  out  in  this  way  as  if 
we  were  eloping." 

Philip  was  reaching  forward  to  take  her  hand,  but 
he  drew  back,  as  if  he  were  stung.  How  terribly 
thoughtless  she  was. 

''  I  explained  about  the  steamer's  early  start." 

"  Do  you  know,"  resumed  Bertha  softly,  "  how 
pleased  I  am  to  have  this  trip  to  Europe  ?  It  is  a 
sort  of  wedding  journey  isn't  it?" 

How  good  God  had  been,  to  let  him  keep  the 
awful  truth  from  her.  It  would  have  crushed  her, 
the  very  thought  of  her  shame.  It  was  crushing 
him. 

"  I   shall  enjoy  it   very  much,"  she  said  putting 


THE  PRICE  OF  HAPPINESS.  45^ 

out  her  hand  to  him,  in  unusual  fondness.  ''  I 
am  afraid  I  haven't  returned  your  goodness  very 
well."  No  more  she  had,  but  it  was  not  her  fault, 
poor  girl. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  first?  " 

"■  To  the  south  of  France,  God  willing,"  he  added 
solemnly. 

Bertha  looked  at  his  face  with  a  new  anxiety. 
The  moonlight  seemed  to  bring  out  all  the  marks  of 
his  terrible  care  and  suffering.  But  he  gazed  at  her 
in  astonishment,  he  had  never  seen  an  expression  so 
near  love  in  her  eyes  for  him.  Was  her  heart  soften- 
ing, would  she  yet  make  up  to  him  in  her  new  love, 
all  that  he  lost  for  her  sake  ?  But  her  lips  were 
moving. 

''  I  shall  be  better  with  you  than  I  used  to  be. 
I — I  " — she  dropped  her  eyes  before  his  passionate 
joy,  the  sadness  had  gone  in  an  instant  from  his 
face,  his  future  seemed  beautifully  radiant  again.  ''  I 
feel  different  toward  you,  dear." 

He  bent  forward  to  draw  her  to  his  heart.  He 
was  paid  for  everything.  He  had  taught  his  wife  to 
love  him  as  he  dreamed  she  could  love.  She  had 
lifted  her  rapt  face  toward  his.  It  had  come,  the 
moment  he  had  given  his  life  fon  But  suddenly  his 
heart  stopped  beating,  there  was  a  sound  of  a  gal- 
loping horse.  Philip  kissed  his  wife,  but  as  solemnly 
as  if  she  were  dead,  and  put  her  away  from  him. 


45 2  THE  BRE  TON  MILLS. ' 

He  leaned  forward  and  looked  back  over  the  road 
they  had  come. 

He  saw  nothing  at  first  but  he  heard  the  sound 
of  a  horse's  hoofs.  He  put  his  head  far  out.  It 
might  have  been  a  white  speck  in  the  road,  but  as 
he  looked  the  speck  became  larger  and  clearer.  It 
was  a  white  horse,  at  a  dead  run,  on  their  course. 
Philip  Breton's  heart,  that  had  just  been  almost 
bursting  with  its  new  happiness,  was  a  great  cold 
stone  in  his  breast.  And  he  had  fancied  he  could 
escape,  with  enemies  like  his  and  a  whole  village 
against  him.  He  could  see  only  one  pursuer.  Ah, 
he  knew  who  it  must  be,  and  he  grew  nearer  every 
moment. 

"  Drive  faster,"  he  shouted  to  the  coachman, 
"  run  the  horses." 

How  like  the  wind  his  pursuer  came.  Philip 
had  thought  there  was  but  one  horse  could  leap  so 
mightily.  Why  this  was  that  one,  his  own  horse 
Joe.  Why  it  might  be  a  servant  from  his  home  with 
something  that  had  been  forgotten.  It  need  not  be 
the  worst  peril  his  fancy  could  picture?  But  he 
dared  not  hope. 

"Isn't  this  delightful,"  exclaimed  Bertha.  *' There 
can't  be  any  danger  of  our  missing  the  train  at  this 
rate." 

The  carriage  rocked  from  side  to  side ;  a  dozen 
times  it  seemed  turning  over,  but  still  Philip  leaned 


THE  PRICE  OF  HAPPINESS.  453 

far  out  of  the  window,  and  as  he  saw  the  great  white 
horse  gaining  at  every  mad  leap,  he  shouted  to  the 
driver  between  his  set  teeth, 

"  Whip  your  horses;  don't  spare  them — faster." 

If  anything  should  break,  their  troubles  would  all 
end  that  night.  And  the  strain  on  the  harnesses 
and  the  groaning  axles  was  beyond  all  calculation  of 
the  makers.  The  horses,  too,  had  got  past  the  con- 
trol of  their  driver.  He  had  no  more  occasion  to 
urge  the  wild  creatures;  instead  he  was  pulling  at 
the  reins  with  all  his  strength  bat  to  no  purpose,  only, 
so  far,  he  had  kept  them  in  the  road. 

The  rider  of  the  white  horse  was  hatless  and  his 
long,  loose  hair  and  his  swinging  hand  as  he  struck 
the  panting  white  flanks  of  the  horse  gave  him  an 
uncanny  look  as  if  there  were  no  deed  of  horror  too 
blood  curdling  for  him  to  do.  The  horse  dropped 
bie  flakes  of  foam  from  his  mouth,  foam  mincjled  with 
blood  ;  his  eyes  and  nostrils  were  dilated  with  agony ; 
his  breathing  was  like  fierce  gusts  of  wind  in  a  tem- 
pest. Philip  Breton  knew  the  rider  as  well  as  the 
horse.  His  pursuer  was  Curran  ;  and  the  implacable 
laws  made  him  yet  the  husband  of  the  woman  whom 
Philip  Breton  had  made  his  wife. 

They  were  almost  at  Lockout.  The  carriage  gave 
a  terrible  lurch  at  a  turn  in  the  road.  The  horses  were 
almost  taken  off  their  feet  but  still  there  was  no  acci- 
dent ;    the  windows  of  the  carriage  grazed  the  solid 


454  THE  BRETON  MILLS. 

wall  of  rock  without  being  broken,  and  in  a  moment 
the  horses,  now  subdued,  were  trotting  down  the  hill 
toward  the  city. 

But  the  fugitives  had  hardly  escaped  the  cut 
through  the  rocks,  when  the  pursuer  entered  it.  He 
had  almost  overtaken  them.  He  struck  the  horse's 
white  flanks  a  pitiless  blow.  It  was  at  the  very  spot 
where  Curran  had  saved  Bertha's  life  from  the  mad 
dog,  that  the  old  horse,  forced  beyond  his  strength, 
stopped  as  if  lightning  had  struck  him.  The  blood 
welled  in  torrents  from  his  mouth  and  nostrils ;  he 
quivered  like  a  leaf,  and  then  fell  dead  in  his  tracks. 
The  rider  shot  over  the  creature's  head  with  the 
gathered  momentum  of  that  mad  race,  and  struck  the 
jagged  rock  with  a  sickening  crash. 


CONCLUSION. 

AS  the  dawn  broke  in  the  east  that  Thursday 
morning,  Philip  Breton  stood  on  the  deck  of 
the  steamer  "  Salvator."  The  look  of  feverish 
watchfulness,  that  had  never  left  his  face  for  so  long, 
was  gone  at  last.  The  great  fear  that  had  chased 
smiles  from  his  lips,  had  given  place  to  a  great  hope. 
A  divine  calm  and  peace  had  come  at  last  upon  his 
soul.  Fate  had  seemed  invincible.  He  had  pitted 
his  beautiful  mills  and  his  home  and  his  hopes  of 
glory  against  it,  all  for  the  love  of  a  woman  who  had 
no  heart  for  him.  He  had  conquered  ;  and  he  did 
not  begrudge  the  price,  this  royal  lover  ;  for  he  had 
won  the  love  of  his  bride  at  last. 

Below  in  her  stateroom,  weary  with  her  unwonted 
excitement.  Bertha  was  sleeping  ;  sleeping  like  a  child 
unconscious  of  the  terrible  peril  and  infamy  she  had 
escaped  by  only  so  much  as  a  hair's  breadth.  The 
hurrying  ship  rocked  her  gently  in  the  great  cradle 
of  the  deep  and  bore  her  to  lands  of  undreamed 
beauty;  where  the  light  of  a  new  eternal  love  would 
be  on  everything. 

THE  END. 


Cool  and  Refreshing  Reading  for  the  Summer  Season. 

THE  GREAT  FUR  LAND  ;  or  Sketches  of  Life 
in  the  Hudson's  Bay  Territory.  By  H.  M.  Robinson, 
formerly  U.  S.  Assistant  Consul  in  Manitoba.  With  numerous 
Illustrations  by  Charles  Gasche.     8vo,  cloth  extra,  $1.75. 

A   SELECTION   FROM   THE   CONTENTS: 

A  Journey  by  Dog-Sledge  ;  Canoe  Life  ;  The  Half- 
Breed  Voyageur  ;  The  Hudson's  Bay  Company  ;  Life  in 
A  Company's  Fort  ;  A  Voyage  with  the  Voyageurs  ;  The 
Great  Fall  Hunts  ;  The  Fraternity  of  Medicine  ;  The 
Blackfeet  Indians  at  Home  ;  Winter  Travel  ;  The  Fur 
Hunter  ;  A  Winter  Camp  ;  The  Frost  King  ;  A  Half- 
Breed  Bull  ;  A  Wood  Indian  "Trade." 

"  Mr.  Robinson  has  admirably  succeeded  in  hitting  off  the  peculiar 
features  of  forest  life,  and  in  following  his  graphic  sketches  the  reader  is 
almost  made  to  feel  the  scent  of  the  odorous  woods,  and  the  breath  of 
refreshing  air  from  the  breezy  mountain-tops.  *  *  *  The  narrative 
exhibits  a  freshness  and  glow  of  delineation,  founded  on  a  certain  novelty 
of  adventure,  which  commands  the  attention  of  the  reader,  and  makes  his 
story  as  attractive  as  romance." — N.    V.   Tribune. 

"  The  Messrs  Putnam  have  published  a  record  of  travel  and  experience 
in  the  far  North,  which,  botd  on  the  score  of  novelty  of  theme  and  liveli- 
ness of  treatment  may  be  called  one  of  the  most  attractive  volumes  of  the 
season.  *  *  *  Altogether,  the  author  has  given  us  a  book,  which, 
considering  the  nature  of  the  information  afforded,  and  the  succinctness  and 
spirit  of  the  narrative,  is  captivating  and  unique." — N.    V.  Sun. 

"  Mr.  Robinson's  book,  it  will  readily  be  seen  from  this,  is  both  an 
entertaining  and  instructive  one." — JV.    V.  Herald. 

"  Journeys  by  dog-sledge,  canoe  life,  the  appearance,  manners  and 
peculiarities  of  the  half-breed  population,  the  organization  of  the  Hudson's 
Bay  Company,  the  great  buffalo  hunt,  trading  with  the  Indians,  camp  life 
and  some  other  characteristic  phases  of  Northwestern  experience  are  de- 
scribed in  a  graphic  and  detailed  style,  which  renders  the  book  very  enter- 
taining reading." — Boston   Traveller. 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS  NEW  YORK, 


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■ab"^ 


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